When the Winds of Changes Shift
by rosabelle317
Summary: Sharon is prompted to reconsider a decision she made decades ago, and Rusty struggles some more with his identity.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: **I wanted to finish When It Rains before posting this, but I also wanted to finish _this_ story before S3 starts and seeing as how that's 100-ish days (!) away and seeing as how SChimes is the loveliest of terrible influences... well, I'm posting it anyway. :D This is my speculative take on what we might see happen next season, including, among other things: Rusty's best efforts at Being An Adult, Sharon's best efforts at handling that, Sharon dealing with Jack once and for all, and Rusty finding some peace with... a lot of things. This is mostly a Sharon-and-Rusty story, so there won't be much in the way of 'ships besides maybe some mild hinting here and there.

The title is pulled from the song "Forever Young" because... that's what I happened to be listening to when I realized I needed to give this thing a title and it seemed appropriate.

**When the Winds of Changes Shift**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter I**

_Dear Rusty._

A full day after the email had popped up, he still hadn't read further than that. Maybe it was that he'd developed an aversion to that particular opening—as in, full-body tensing with the feel of a thousand spider legs crawling up the back of his neck and his stomach dropping like the ground had been yanked out from under him. Yeah. That was probably it. Who could blame him, really, when that was the phrase of choice of the serial killer who had stalked him?

He still felt cold when he let himself think of how easily that knife had plunged into the couch, and how that had almost been his heart.

Rusty shifted on the couch, his laptop wobbling precariously on his knees as he tried to scratch between his shoulder blades.

That wasn't it, though. Because basically every birthday card, college letter, and automated response to job applications he'd gotten over the last couple of months had started out _Dear Rusty_—or _Dear Mr. Beck_, if they wanted to be uptight and formal—and it hadn't so much as registered with him.

No, he was forced to admit, this intensely unpleasant physical response had everything to do with the person sending it. That she'd opened with that was just unfortunate luck, and that she'd looked him up on Facebook instead of going through more official channels was... well, he wasn't sure what it was, but he did feel a little...

Slowly, he closed the laptop and leaned forward to rest it on the coffee table. He picked up his phone instead. The last message Sharon had sent him was still displayed on the screen. _Be home soon. Miss you._

_Saved you some dinner_, he'd sent back.

That was almost an hour ago.

Blindsided, he decided. That was how he felt. He had always assumed that in what he deemed the _highly unlikely_ event that this day ever came, Sharon would hear about it first, and she would break the news to him carefully and walk him through whatever came next.

Instead, the message had come up out of nowhere without a second's warning, just the unalarming chime that meant he had an unread email, and it had happened while Sharon was busy trying to solve a triple homicide and he'd seen her for all of fifteen minutes in the last two days.

Maybe that was a good thing, he told himself. Hadn't he been trying to act like the adult he was supposed to be? Sharon had done so much for him—he didn't need to bring her his every problem.

Except...

Rusty fidgeted uncomfortably as he watched his phone. That excuse didn't really work, either, because this was definitely one of those things that Sharon would expect him to mention, and he really _had_ learned his lesson about keeping secrets from her after the whole letters fiasco after it had turned out that actually, her response _hadn't_ been a giant overreaction. But... he hadn't even read the message all the way through yet, and maybe once he did, there would be nothing to worry about. Maybe he wouldn't respond right away. Maybe he wouldn't _need_ to respond at all—he didn't even know if it was the sort of message that required a response. He should at least work up the nerve to read the whole thing first, because Sharon had, like, an entire morgue's worth of dead people to worry about at the moment, and she didn't need to worry about him too. Especially if there was no cause for alarm.

Maybe, he reasoned, he didn't have to tell her at this precise moment.

Yeah.

He could do that.

But the unease remained firmly in the pit of his stomach. He sent her another message to distract himself. _Where are you?_

He thought about turning on the TV, but yesterday, he'd tried to wait up for Sharon and it had just lulled him to sleep instead. By the time she'd made it home, he'd been out for almost an hour, and he'd tried to wake up enough to talk to her, but she'd just shaken her head and pointed him down the hall to his room with a reminder that he had to work in the morning.

Which was true, but it wasn't like his job required much in the way of actual thinking, but even half asleep, he'd known that he couldn't make that argument to Sharon because then _she_ would just remind him for the hundredth—no, the thousandth time that he didn't _have_ to work anywhere and if he would rather volunteer somewhere, that was fine with her, and he just hadn't wanted to go there again. Partly because he hadn't found a volunteer opportunity that didn't sound boring, partly because he could snack as much as he wanted as long as no one was looking so it was like he was being paid to eat tacos, and partly because Sharon had questioned whether he had the temperament to work in the food service industry and he wasn't ready to admit that he didn't.

... And also because he hadn't found another job yet.

And no, okay, he didn't want her to call around and ask her lawyer friend if he needed someone to, like, file paperwork for him, because first of all, that sounded _terrible_ (he didn't tell Sharon that), and second of all, he was going find himself a job _himself_. And he had. Three of them, in fact, but it wasn't his fault that the manager at McDonald's had decided that Rusty had a completely fictitious problem with authority and fine, if that was how they were going to be, then he was happy to leave and never eat their awful hamburgers ever again.

His first summer as an adult wasn't going quite as smoothly as he'd hoped, but he thought he was starting to get the hang of it. He just needed a little more time.

Rusty checked his phone again. Speaking of time...

But there was nothing from Sharon.

He was in the middle of composing another text when he heard the key in the lock, and the sound soothed away some of his agitation. Not all of it, because now he was going to have to decide whether he should tell her the thing now or later, but... enough of it.

He could guess at how exhausted Sharon was from the time it took her from unlocking the door to actually opening it and stepping inside, and that was definitely a point in the "later" camp.

"Hey." He twisted around on the sofa, turning towards the door. "What took you so long?"

Sharon leaned back against the door, her eyes shut. "There was an accident on the freeway."

Her voice was low with fatigue and her shoulders were heavy with it. That settled it, then; he wasn't going to tell her tonight.

"So, wait," he said, rearranging his legs to make room for her on the couch. "When _I'm_ late, I get _are you alive_ texts, but when _you're_ late—"

"Texting while driving is how accidents happen in the first place, Rusty." She set down her keys and purse before coming around towards him. Her hand brushed his shoulder as she passed him, and she stooped down to give him a kind of loose and one-armed not-actually-a-hug on her way to sit down that he found himself leaning into anyway. "I wasn't sure I wouldn't wake you up if I called."

"I was just kidding, Sharon." Rusty shrugged, settling back into the couch. "It's all right. Did you catch your bad guy?"

"We did." Sharon sank down with a quiet groan, tilting her head against the back of the couch. "Unfortunately, he doesn't like the deal Emma offered him, and his lawyer actually thinks they can win this in court..." She shook her head from side to side without opening her eyes.

"So you lost?"

"It's not about winning or losing," she told him, which was ridiculous, but after a short pause, she added, "But yes, it would have been more satisfying if he had confessed and taken the deal."

Which was basically Sharon's way of saying that she'd lost and she was grumpy about it.

"But," she went on, opening her eyes to smile at him, "the good news is I'm home now, I think I have just enough time to get a decent night's sleep, and I made it back before you went to bed—and you know that I'm happy to see you, but you don't have to wait up for me."

"It's not a big deal, Sharon." He shrugged. "Besides, you were gone by the time I woke up this morning."

"I checked on you before I left, but you were dead to the world," she said. "Did you get up for work all right?"

"It's not like it's any different than getting up for school," he told her. "Easier, actually, because I never got paid to go to school."

"Which reminds me," she said. "When _do_ you get paid?"

"Uh... sometime next week," he said. "I think."

"If nothing comes up, I'll pick you up on my way home," she offered. "We'll go somewhere to celebrate."

"What, that I made it two weeks without being fired? It's not like that's _hard_, Sharon." Never mind that it had taken him three tries to get there, but he didn't need to remind her about that. "And besides, the whole _point_ of having a job is so that you _don't_ have to buy me everything."

"It can be your treat, then," she said.

"Oh," he said, and paused to consider that. "I'll think about it."

"So, it's going well, then?" she prompted.

"Yeah, I guess." He shrugged. "I mean, it's kind of boring, actually—but that doesn't mean I should quit or that you should try to find me a job you think is better, or—or—"

"Rusty." She sounded almost amused as she straightened up, drawing first one foot and then the other up so that she could remove her heels; then, barefoot, she stretched her legs forward and flexed her toes back and forth. "I wasn't going to suggest that—but the offer's always there, if you want it."

"_Sharon._"

She ignored his tone. "What I was going to say was that learning to work well in an environment that's less than ideal is an invaluable life skill. And I'm not going to lie to you, I do wish you would look for something more to your liking, but I _am_ proud of you for going out and doing this all on your own."

"You... are?"

"Very much so."

"Oh," he said again, lowering his eyes. "Um. Thanks."

"It's true," she said, giving him one of those knowing half-smiles. She pulled one leg up again, massaging the ball of her foot with her thumbs. "It has been _such_ a long day."

"Do you want some dinner?" he offered. "I made spaghetti."

Sharon shifted her legs, switching to the other foot. "I hope you ate at a decent hour, at least."

"I did," he said. "But that was, like, hours ago and I could eat again, if you wanted some company."

"Just have a snack if you're still hungry," she said, amusement coloring her otherwise tired face. "I think I'm too tired to eat."

"Shouldn't you go to bed, then?" Duh, Sharon.

"Soon. I need a moment."

He passed her one of the throw pillows without thinking. She drew it into her lap, fiddling with a corner of it even as her eyes slid shut again.

"While you're awake," he said, though she was barely that. "Do you need anything from the store? I was gonna go tomorrow."

She opened her eyes to look at him sideways. "I went grocery shopping yesterday. You said you didn't need anything."

"Well, yeah," he said. "I didn't _then_. But now we're out of ice cream."

Her mouth flattened, but from the way the corners of her eyes rose up, he thought it was to hide a smile rather than to suppress annoyance. "I appreciate the offer. I'll leave you some money."

"No," he protested. "I can—"

"Rusty, you should be saving your money," she said. "You'll wish you had, later."

"I can afford _bread_," he insisted. "And, like, peaches or whatever fruit you want this week."

"You don't even like peaches."

"Do you like ice cream?"

"Sometimes," she said, after an entirely too long pause.

"Come on, Sharon."

"If it means that much to you," she relented.

He sat back in satisfaction. "_Thank_ you."

He suspected that she was going to give him a list of four non-expensive items and then come home herself with the rest of the groceries and some excuse about having forgotten to tell him. He also suspected that this wasn't normal behavior for people his age (shouldn't Sharon be encouraging him to take on more adult responsibilities?), but normal was a ship that had sailed a long time ago.

"I'll write out a list for you in the morning, then," she said. "And now I think I really will head off to bed. I'm just glad I caught you before you fell asleep in front of the TV again."

"Me too," he said. "_Sharktopus _gave me the weirdest dreams."

She was less successful at hiding her amusement this time. "I still can't believe _that's_ what you wanted for your birthday."

"I still can't believe you wouldn't tell me what you wanted for yours." In the end, he'd gotten her a small potted rosebush to replace the one he'd accidentally drowned.

Sharon stood, bending to pick up her discarded shoes, and straightening with a quiet sigh. "Good night, Rusty."

"Night," he echoed. He watched her disappear into her room, and then he gathered up his phone and laptop and brought them to his own room. He plugged his laptop in to charge and changed into his pajamas, curling up in bed with his phone.

With Sharon gone, his thoughts were all drawn back to this problem. He had to tell her, and he knew that the longer he waited, the more upset she would be—but he still thought he'd made the right choice _not_ telling her tonight.

But since he was going to have to tell her soon... like, _tomorrow_ soon, he was going to have to decide what he wanted to do about it, and that meant he was going to have to read the entire thing.

It still took him another half hour to work up the courage to actually do it because once he did there would be no going back, and for all that he wanted to prove to himself that he was an adult, that he could handle this—he drew the covers up to his chin and felt uncomfortably like a child as he read the message with tears smarting in his eyes.

_Dear Rusty,_

_It's hard for me to write to you when I know you probably don't want to talk to me. I was in a bad situation the last time we talked, but I'm doing better now and I'm not that person anymore. I've missed you. I'll be in town awhile._

_Love, Mom_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes: **87 DAYS. MUST FINISH ALL THE THINGS. AAAAHHHH. What are y'all hoping to see next season? My wishlist is three hugs and a divorce. :D

**When the Winds of Changes Shift**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter II**

"If he _didn't_ want to spend the rest of his life in prison, maybe he shouldn't have shot three people." Andy's disgruntled voice disrupted Sharon's narrow-eyed concentration, though he appeared to be addressing no one in particular. "I'm just saying."

"Now, now," Provenza chided. "Next you'll be telling me that entire unfortunate situation could have been avoided if young Nicky had just _asked_ his roommates if they'd stolen his heroin instead of jumping to conclusions."

Her back to them, Sharon swallowed her smile. It seemed entirely inappropriate when she was studying pictures of a man who'd just been bludgeoned to death with a hammer, but it really was gratifying to note their discontentment with how their last case had resolved itself when she remembered vividly how they'd all dug in their heels in protest at the beginning.

She cleared her throat. "Lieutenants," she said, turning. "I'm not any happier about how yesterday turned out than you are, but what's done is done. Mr. Collins declined his deal. It's out of our hands. We're moving on to Dr. Alvarez here and who might've wanted to kill him."

"Well, since _these_—" Amy held up a stack of papers an inch thick. "Are the records of all the students he's failed this quarter alone, the answer seems to be a lot of people. So far nothing's turned up, but we're still looking."

"Good," she said. "But since our victim was killed elsewhere, we need to widen our suspect pool."

As Sharon was discovering, Amy's comments like _great insight_ and _very wise, Captain_ were actually missed now that in their absence, she said things like _gotcha_ and _will do_. It wasn't precisely that her ego needed it the compliments, but it had been... well, it had been a pleasant change to have someone going out of their way to flatter her for once.

"Pizza!" Buzz entered the room balancing two large boxes in front of him. "Someone wanted pizza?"

"First slice is mine," Tao called without glancing up from his computer.

"You all owe me seven fifty," Buzz informed them. "Cash only."

"Flynn'll pay my share, then," Provenza told him. "And how many times do I have to tell you, not on _my_ desk? The crumbs get everywhere. If Tao wants it so bad, put them _there_."

"You don't have seven bucks?" Andy grumbled. "What, did you not cash your social security check this month?"

The poorly muffled snort was from Julio. When Sharon glanced at him, he wasn't bothering to hide his smirk as he rose and went to Mike's desk to grab a slice. Provenza seemed to be in a good mood despite his tone; he hadn't threatened to cut anyone out of the friends and family printer plan yet.

Sharon had just stood to get her own slice when she felt her phone vibrate in her jacket pocket. She reached for it, expecting Rusty, and paused when she saw the caller ID. "Excuse me," she said, already frowning as she turned to move in the opposite direction. "I'm going to take this in my office. Save me a slice."

She gave them her best _I mean it_ look, and answered on her way through the door. "Hello?"

"Hi, Mom."

"Is everything all right?"

There was a slight pause. "Does something _have_ to be wrong?" Katie demanded. "Can't I just call my mother to say hello?"

What that answer wasn't, Sharon noted, was a _yes, Mom, everything's fine, you worry too much._ "At noon on a weekday?"

"It's not noon _here_," Katie said. "And anyway, I'm just taking a quick break. Did I tell you I got a cat?"

Sharon raised an eyebrow as she took her seat. Of all the potential life crises that could have warranted a midday phone call, that had not been at the top of the list."You did not."

"Well, I did," Katie said. "David—I told you about him, right? My friend who works at the animal shelter? Well, he showed me a picture of this cat that came in and he said she was old and they were going to have a hard time placing her, and well—Ricky seems to like _his_ cats, and if you saw a picture of Belladonna, you'd understand. I posted some. On Facebook. Have you seen?"

"Honey, I haven't been on Facebook since..." Awhile. She loved her children, but she could only pretend to be interested in blurry photos of half-eaten breakfast muffins every so often, and they knew to email her with anything that they really wanted her to see.

"Christmas," Katie said. "I know. But you should really take a look. On _Facebook_."

That was the second time she'd said it with that less-than-subtle emphasis, and Sharon had the sense of the conversation being steered in a particular direction. It was far more unsettling when she wasn't the one doing the steering.

"Really," she said, and reached for her computer.

"_Ricky'_s got some new photos too."

Well, she knew a hint when she heard one. "I'll take a look," she promised.

"Great!" Katie said brightly. "I've got to get back to rehearsal now. I'll talk to you later, Mom. Love you."

"Love you," Sharon said. She tried not to sigh as she waited for her computer to boot up.

Her Facebook feed was cluttered with notifications that Rusty had unlocked new regions on more games than she could keep track of, and did she want to join him in playing Candy Crush? Sharon rolled her eyes. It seemed that he had more time on his hands than she'd been aware of. There was one person in particular who seemed to have gone through and liked each and every one of his posts, but she would investigate _that_ in a moment.

Katie's new cat was admittedly gorgeous, white and fluffy with bright green eyes. Next were several photos of Katie with a handsome young man who had his arm around her in a way that suggested _friend_ might have been the wrong descriptor for their relationship (maybe she did need to get on Facebook more often...), and approximately three thousand photos of Katie and her friends striking exaggerated poses in their costumes.

When she'd gone back far enough in time that she was looking at pictures of Katie wearing a winter coat and pouting as she pointed up at the sky, Sharon decided that whatever problem she was supposed to be fixing was entirely on Ricky's end. That was only a small relief, and she found herself tensing in anticipation as she went to look through _more_ photos. She still wasn't sure which cat was Marshmallow and which one was S'mores, but the real question was _why_ had Ricky paused to photograph them before removing them from the stovetop where they appeared to be licking a spatula he'd left unattended? And why did this seem to be a regular occurrence? Though she had to admit, they appeared to be less of a problem than any of the human roommates he'd ever had... and his photos of food were better lit than she remembered, and... oh.

Oh.

Well.

Sharon leaned back in her seat, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. She hadn't expected _that_. In itself, it wasn't a cause for alarm, but couple with the fact that Katie hadn't just _told_ her—well, that meant that Ricky had probably asked her not to, and _that_ meant... any number of things, and none of them were good. Sharon sighed, and reached for her phone again.

It was a good thing she hadn't had her heart set on a slice of that pizza.

* * *

Sharon's grocery list: bananas, milk, and oatmeal. She'd taken up more space writing _DRIVE __CAREFULLY _underneath the list than on the list itself. Rusty rolled his eyes and shoved the crumpled slip of paper back into his pocket. She needed to work on her subtlety.

He was pretty sure that he'd spent more money on the ice cream than on everything else combined. It was great and all that Sharon wanted him to not spend money or whatever, but she didn't need to provide _everything_ for him anymore. That was why he'd gone and gotten a job! To be independent. And also because Sharon thought he didn't _need_ to upgrade his phone when his current one wasn't even two years old and still worked perfectly.

Just because _she_ was happy with _her_ phone... And okay, Rusty sort of knew that he was focusing on the ways in which Sharon was exasperating because there were a lot of them and it kept him from thinking about the giant bowling ball in his stomach that was his mother and how he had to tell Sharon about her, but these were still valid complaints.

Before he'd finished putting the groceries away, Sharon texted to say that she'd pick up dinner on the way home and not to worry about making anything. Rusty stuck the milk in the fridge and went to shower, because as it turned out, smelling like tacos all the time was less fun than it sounded, and he was pretty sure there was a layer of grease on his eyeballs.

He was just getting dressed again when he heard the front door open. "Rusty?"

He stepped out of the bathroom with his work clothes a crumpled heap in his arms. "Be right there."

"I brought dinner," she called back. "Your favorite."

That was... so unlike her. Rusty dumped his clothes in the hamper and went to the living room to investigate, but no, he definitely smelled fries. And that looked like a milkshake sitting on the table next to the takeout bag.

He gave her a questioning look. "You really got burgers?"

"Burger," she said. "For you. I got myself a sandwich."

"Oh," he said, peering into the bag and sneaking a fry as he unpacked the bag. Burger and fries for him, a sandwich and a salad for her. "Thanks, Sharon. You didn't have to."

She smiled at him without saying anything, and he experienced an uncomfortable sort of pressure in his chest. She was going to be upset when he told her. Maybe he _should_ have told her yesterday, when she'd been in a bad mood anyway. Maybe he shouldn't ruin her night when she was home on time and happy about it.

"I had a _very_ interesting conversation with my daughter this afternoon," Sharon said, settling into her chair. "And you're very welcome. Use a plate, please."

"I know, I know." He glanced over his shoulder on his way to the cabinet. "What was so interesting about it?"

"There's a lot going on in her life," Sharon said, turning sideways in her chair to watch him move about the kitchen. "Boyfriend she hasn't told me about. New cat."

"That's... nice?" Rusty went to grab Sharon a fork for her salad. Why was she watching him so intently?

"Oh, it is." She smiled. "Katie told me she'd been posting a lot of pictures on Facebook lately, which I would know if I ever checked mine."

Uh oh.

Rusty froze with his hand on the refrigerator door, his stomach filled with an uncomfortable suspicion of where this was headed. "Th—that's true," he said, grimacing into the fridge as he grabbed the ketchup. She would notice that stutter. "You haven't logged in since I showed you how to upload all the Christmas tree photos."

"I think I'll have to start checking it more often," she said. "It's funny what you miss when you don't."

"Like... what?" Rusty approached the table cautiously, passing Sharon her fork.

"Well, for instance—" She tore open her salad dressing and upturned it over the container. "Jack was in Portland two weeks ago visiting Ricky. My—_our_ son."

"Oh." Unexpected relief washed over him, and Rusty expelled a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "He didn't tell you?"

Sharon shook her head as she mixed the dressing into her salad with the back of her fork. "I had no idea. So _then_," she went on, "I called Ricky and asked if he and his father had a good time."

"Were they?"

Sharon frowned, watching him unwrap his burger. "He said that Jack asked him for money, and that the reason he didn't tell me was because he knew I would worry."

She was looking at him again. Rusty wondered if his relief had been a little premature. "Did he give him the money?"

"He said no," she said, and ran a hand through her hair. "He also said Jack only asked for five hundred, which I suspect means he gave his father a thousand dollars, and I haven't decided how to handle that yet, but—what I told Ricky was that I wasn't angry with him, that I love him, and that if he ever needs to talk to me about anything, he should never worry that he's burdening me with his problems."

She took a careful bite of salad, not quite looking at him as she chewed, and Rusty toyed with one of his fries. So she did know. He swallowed, his appetite gone. "Did that really happen?"

"Unfortunately." She gave him a long, searching look. "So. How was your day?"

"It was... fine."

"I'm glad to hear that."

Rusty stared down at his plate, his eyes flickering to her face and down again. "You're really not mad? At your son, I mean?"

"No," she said quietly. "It's never been my desire or my intention to keep my children from having a relationship with their father, and in any event, they're adults and they can talk to whomever they choose without my permission."

Rusty sucked in a deep breath. It shouldn't be this hard when she already knew. "I was going to tell you."

"I know."

"But then last night you came home so late, and you were gone when I woke up this morning, and I didn't want to tell you before I decided what to do, and..." He looked at her helplessly.

"I know, honey," she said gently. "Eat your dinner. I'm not angry with you. Tell me what happened."

"I guess my mom looked me up on Facebook," he said, still staring at his plate more than at her. "She sent me a message."

"What did she say?"

"It wasn't a very long message." He shrugged. "She said she wasn't sure I'd want to talk to her, but she'd be in town awhile."

"I see," Sharon said, and paused for what felt like a long time. "Does she want to see you?"

"I—" He frowned. "I... don't know. She didn't say. She didn't really say... anything."

There was no apology for dumping him, or any questions about how he was doing or where he was living, or _anything_ about his life. He wasn't sure why he was so surprised. It had been a long time since she'd asked about his day, and eventually she'd forgotten him too many places to remember to say sorry each time. When she'd left him at the zoo, she'd done it without a real goodbye. So he wasn't sure why all of a sudden it bothered him that she couldn't be bothered to ask how his life was going, because it wasn't like that was anything new.

"Do you want to see her?"

He hadn't realized how he was dreading the question until she asked. Rusty stared down into his plate. "I—I don't know." He hesitated. "I haven't answered her yet. I looked through her pictures. She seems... I don't know. Okay. She doesn't look as thin as she used to. I don't think she's with Gary anymore."

"But you accepted her friend request?" Sharon prompted.

Her name showed up as Sherry Marie, but Sharon wasn't an idiot. She would have figured it out the moment she saw the profile picture, anyway, because Daniel the asshole had been right. The resemblance didn't stop at the eyes. His face was the spitting image of his mother's.

"Yeah." He looked at her warily. "I just wanted to know if she was okay."

"Rusty," she said gently. "I know you love your mother. I know you miss her. You haven't done anything wrong."

"Do you... um..." He was almost afraid to ask, because what if her answer was no? "Is it, like, _okay_ if I answer her? I—I mean..."

"What's important is what _you_ want," Sharon said, but there was something... She spoke a little too quickly, and her knuckles were white where they gripped her fork.

He'd had a lot of time to think about what he wanted, and he still didn't know. He'd spend most of the first year still wishing for his mother. On some nights when sleep was slow incoming, he'd lain awake and stared into the not-quite-darkness broken by the light of the streetlamp outside, and wondered where his mother was now. Was she alive? Was Gary still hanging around, or had she moved on to someone or somewhere new and yet exactly the same? Was she in a motel this time, or crashing at some loser's apartment, or was she back to living out of the car? He guessed she was freer to move around without him.

Rusty wasn't sure, exactly, when he'd stopped wishing that he was with her. Sometime between Daniel and that first letter, because when it had shown up and Emma had flipped out and threatened witness protection, everything in him had panicked at the thought of leaving. It had snuck up on him, this place being home.

It had snuck up on him, loving this Sharon.

He hadn't meant to.

But he did.

He couldn't help that.

He could remember hating her. The fights were all blurred together in his mind now, an endless stream of "do your homework" and "you're _not_ my mother" and "don't drink out of the carton" and "this is why you have no friends." None of them were really _worth_ remembering now, but he was pretty sure he had been terrible and she had been frustrating.

At first, he'd told himself that it was because he had no choice. That maybe she'd been right—he might as well make the best of things. It certainly wasn't for her sake, or because he was happy where he was, or... anything of the sort, nope, no, he was leaving at the first chance he got. And then she'd gone and done things for him that no adult in his life had _ever_ done, and he'd grown to trust her because she had been trustworthy. She'd saved his life again and _again_, and the only thing she asked for in return was that he be kind.

He wasn't sure what he would do if she told him she didn't want him to see his mother.

Rusty swallowed. "Sharon... I—I don't want to _live_ with her or anything."

"Oh." Her lips parted slightly in surprise as she looked at him, and though she tried to hide it, he saw faint horror cross her face at the thought. "Oh Rusty, no, honey. This is your home for as long as you want it to be."

It was what he'd hoped she would say, but that sense of uncertainty remained close to him nonetheless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: **Thank you all for your lovely comments! :)

**When the Winds of Changes Shift**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter III**

"Are you seriously sending me to my room without dinner?"

Rusty meant it as a joke, but the humor was lost on Sharon. She didn't laugh; in fact, she looked vaguely worried when she stopped pacing behind the couch and turned towards him. "Oh, Rusty, no. You're more than welcome to join us for dinner, but Jack and I—"

"Have things that you need to talk about privately," he finished for her. She'd told him twice already. "I know, Sharon. I get it."

"Right." She gave him a small smile and returned to her agitated pacing.

Rusty shifted, stretching his legs out across the couch. "Is he in some kind of trouble or something?"

"Jack?" she said, and shook her head. "I'm sure it's something. I _hate_ that I'm doing exactly what he wants by inviting him here, but I _refuse_ to let him take advantage of his children."

She stopped pacing and marched to one of the armchairs, seizing the pillow almost violently in her arms as she sat. "I'm sorry," she said. "You don't need to hear all this."

"It's fine, Sharon." He hesitated. "But, like, do you not _want_ me to stick around for dinner, because I could..."

"If you feel uncomfortable joining us, I certainly understand," she said. "But it's perfectly all right with me if you want to stay."

"I'll stay, then. If you're sure."

He couldn't deny that he was bursting with curiosity. Before last summer, Sharon had mentioned Jack so infrequently that he'd forgotten she was even married at all. His name had come up here and there since then—enough for Rusty to think that maybe Jack was less okay of a person than he'd previously thought and, yeah, it had been a dick move for him to leave without saying goodbye.

"Are you going to make him pay your son back?"

"I can't _make_ Jack do anything," Sharon told him. "And Ricky refuses to admit that he even gave Jack money in the first place... He's always had this—this fantasy of who his father was."

"I always—" By the time Rusty realized that he really shouldn't have said anything at all, Sharon was _looking_ at him. He glanced away, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "My mom told me that my father died fighting in Bosnia."

Sharon nodded, lowering her chin until it touched the top of the pillow. He'd told her that much before, he thought, but it was hard to remember.

He drew in a deep breath before he went on. "I always wondered if that was why she... like if he hadn't died, things would've been better. Then..." He shrugged. "I would've been better off if it were true."

He didn't tell her about how, before he was old enough to know better, he'd lain awake at night and imagined his father appearing at their apartment door, back from the dead and there to make them a family again. It could've happened. People were sometimes misidentified.

And now... he didn't need a father and he didn't want one.

"Speaking of your mother." Sharon was frowning at him. "Have you given any thought to how you want to proceed with her?"

"I'm working on it," he said, feeling his spine stiffen. "It's... it's complicated, okay?"

"I'm not trying to push you." She must've heard the tension in his voice. "Just... let me know what you decide."

"Yeah," he said, tugging at his hem again. "I will."

Her frowned deepened, but she said nothing. Her arms tightened around the pillow. He stared at the floor and tried very had not to look at her. He shouldn't have mentioned his mother when he knew that Sharon didn't want him to see her. She was trying to hide it behind "it's up to you" and "what matters is what you want," but he wasn't stupid, okay? And he knew Sharon.

She was right, though—it _was_ up to him, and that knowledge was paralyzing him, because now that he'd had the time to think about it, he _did_ want to see his mother, even if it was just once to know that she was okay, but he loved Sharon too. He loved her a _lot_, and it was too late to take that back or cut her off, so that meant that no matter what he chose, someone would end up hurt. He didn't want that, but he was having a hard time seeing a way around it.

The sound of a key scratching in the lock might have relieved him as much as it made Sharon look grim and unhappy. "Is Jack trying to break in again?"

"I'm not sure I told him I changed the locks," Sharon said, sighing as she rose. "Well. I'm sure this will be... fun."

Yeah, and maybe tomorrow they'd invite Phillip Stroh over for breakfast, he thought, trailing after Sharon to the door. That sounded fun too. Rusty stopped just behind Sharon, close enough to see the rise and fall of her shoulders as she released another deep breath before she reached for the door.

"Jack," she said. "It's... been awhile."

"Hey, Sharon." He smiled at her. "You change the locks or something?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact."

"You didn't have to go to all that trouble," he told her. "I know you were mad at me, but geez. I stayed away like you made it very clear you wanted."

Sharon hummed in response.

Rusty decided not to mention that the lock changing had more to do with the serial killer who'd been stalking him than anything else.

"So." Sharon stepped back to let him in. "How's the apartment working out?"

"There was a, uh—" Jack gave her a sheepish grin, holding his fingers close together. "There was a little problem with the apartment."

"What was the problem?"

"The landlord."

"Ah."

"But there's no reason to get into all that right now, it's—hey." Jack noticed him for the first time. "How are you, kid?"

He'd given up hoping to be referred to as anything but "the kid" by the team, but that didn't mean it wasn't annoying, and it was a thousand times more so when Jack said it because Jack didn't even know him, really. "Fine," he said cautiously.

"Still hanging around here, huh?"

Rusty felt himself bristle.

"Rusty is free to stay as long as he likes," Sharon said. "You, on the other hand, have a much more limited invitation."

He couldn't tell if Sharon sounded so annoyed because Jack was here at all, or if because she too was remembering how hard she'd worked to convince him that he didn't need to move out the moment he turned eighteen.

"I was wondering if maybe, if it's all right with you—it's your place after all—it might not be quite so limited."

"Let's start with dinner." Sharon pressed her lips together, directing him towards the table with a sweeping wave of her hand. "We'll work our way up from there."

"Thanks, Sharon," he said. "I really appreciate it."

She made a quiet, disbelieving noise in her throat, and favored Rusty with a small smile. "What are you in the mood for? And don't say burgers."

"Uh..." Her sudden attention startled him. He settled on the first thing that came into his mind. "Chinese."

Sharon looked a little surprised because that usually wasn't his first choice, but she went to find the takeout menus from the kitchen. Rusty kept his eyes on Jack, who watched Sharon, who was studiously ignoring both of them as she rummaged through the drawers. He hadn't noticed before, because Jack hadn't wanted anything from _him_—in fact, Jack had actually done a lot _for_ him, picking him up from school and taking him to dinner and yeah, he'd talked an awful lot but that was a price Rusty was willing to pay for not being embarrassed by the stupid patrol car and Sharon's complete overreaction.

But now, watching them, it obvious that Jack wanted something from _Sharon_, and it was so clear that he wondered how he could ever have missed it.

"Okay." Sharon straightened up with a handful of paper menus. "What'll it be?"

He discovered why Sharon had told him it was fine _not_ to join them for dinner during the next half hour while they waited for their food. Obviously, they weren't going to talk about their marriage and everything wrong with it in front of him, but Sharon didn't seem to feel like talking about much of anything and even Jack didn't have a story to tell, so they mostly sat around the table in tense silence.

Rusty was sure that it hadn't been like this last summer. Sure, Sharon hadn't been _thrilled_ that Jack had moved onto her couch, but there had been actual conversation. Jack had even made her laugh a couple of times and that... was a little weird, but at the same time, it had seemed... okay.

"So what was the problem with your landlord?"

He had to say _something_.

"Well." Jack cleared his throat. "It's kind of a long story, very boring, really, but he's telling me I have to go."

"You're being evicted?" Sharon sounded unhappy.

"Well..."

"Can't you take him to court or something?" Rusty asked. He and his mom had done that, a couple of times.

"I'd have to hire a lawyer, and you know how it is, expenses and delays and it's just easier for everyone if I find a new place."

"Dude, aren't _you_ a lawyer?" He was pretty sure it wasn't that complicated, anyway. His mom had never needed a lawyer. His mom had never won, either.

He thought he saw Sharon hide a smile.

"Er—well—tenant-landlord disputes can be very—never mind all that, young man," Jack said. "So tell me, is Kris still around?"

Rusty froze.

Beside him, Sharon's head came up.

"Uh," he said. "No. Not really. We don't... no."

Where the hell was their dinner?

"So you two—"

"That's enough, Jack," Sharon said sharply.

"You can't blame a guy for asking," he defended himself. "I'm just surprised. You two seemed pretty close to me."

"Not anymore," Rusty said stiffly. It wasn't like he _cared_ what Jack thought of him, but... but... Anyway, that was none of his business.

"I think I'm going to call and check on our delivery," Sharon said, rising. The back of her hand brushed against his tense shoulder as she passed in quiet reassurance.

* * *

When Rusty finished off his second plate of sesame chicken, Sharon turned towards him and pointedly raised her eyebrow. He rolled his eyes at her, clearly protesting the reminder because, as he had made clear, she had told him a hundred times, and he had sworn that he understood.

She could have strangled him when he took third helpings of everything.

Sharon took a deep breath, and reached forward to spoon some more chicken onto her own plate. No, that was all right. She didn't want to send him to his room hungry because the nature of the conversation that she was about to have with Jack was such that the last thing she wanted was for Rusty to interrupt them halfway through because he was hungry for leftovers.

When Rusty appeared to be considering fourths, though, she stood and began removing the takeout containers to the kitchen because enough was enough and no one was in any danger of starving. Rusty caught on a moment later and stood to help her; Jack followed suit, and the table was quickly cleared.

"Well..." Rusty dumped the last of the silverware into the dishwasher and straightened up, shifting awkwardly on the balls on his feet. "I... have a thing to do, and I guess you two wanna talk or something..."

The worst part was, he looked proud of his subtlety. She couldn't resist touching his shoulder as he passed her on his way out of the kitchen, shaking her head as she watched him go.

"Coffee?" she offered.

"If you're having some," Jack said. He paused. "Listen, Sharon—"

That was how it always started. _Listen, Sharon, there's something we need to talk about. _She could probably recite the entire script by now.

She drew in a deep breath and willed herself to remain calm as she went to the coffee pot. "How are things, Jack?"

"Good," he said. "Life is good. Work is good."

"Mmm."

She brought the pot to the sink, watching it as it filled. She knew how this worked; they'd done this dance a thousand times. Each time, she grew tireder of the steps.

"It's been nice, being back in LA," he went on, following her with his eyes as she started the coffee. "I'm just in a bit of a tight spot at the moment, what with losing the apartment and all. I got most of my stuff in storage while I look for a new place."

Sharon made another noncommittal sound and leaned back against the counter, crossing her arms. Jack's eyes lingered on her then, his gaze turning soft. "You look good, Sharon."

Five years ago, that might have worked. Five years ago, it _had_ worked. Sharon tried not to sigh as she unfolded her arms. "What happened with the apartment, Jack?"

"I was trying to help out a friend," he said, and shrugged. "But then he overstayed his welcome and I loaned him a little too much—it's kind of a funny story, actually, you might laugh..."

"I'll take your word for it," she said. "I'm just thinking how it's doubly fortunate you could make it up to Portland, then, what with things being so tight for you."

There was a long pause. "Portland?"

"So you _weren't_ in Portland, visiting Ricky?"

"Oh," he said. "No, I—I was there. I figured I had a little time saved up, you know, and it's a nice drive, so I took a little trip. Ricky's really grown. I have to tell you, I almost didn't recognize him."

"Maybe because he was eighteen the last time that you saw him."

"Don't start, Sharon. I'm making an effort here."

She pressed her lips together and didn't respond. Behind her, the coffee still dripped into the pot.

"I can't figure you out," he complained. "Last time I saw you, it was all you could talk about. _Talk to the kids, Jack. When was the last time you saw the kids, Jack?_ You were like a broken record. And now, what, you _don't_ want me to see the kids?"

"I never—"

"It hasn't been easy for me, either, Sharon," he informed her. "It took months to get Ricky to really talk to me, and you know, I try to call Katie every now and then but she won't take my calls anymore."

Sharon turned to pour two mugs of coffee. She wasn't sure whether to be proud of them for being suspicious, or sad that they had to be. Jack was a terrible husband; she knew that and she'd made her peace with it a long time ago. But he could have still been a good father, if he'd cared enough to try—she'd always known better to expect child support checks from him every month when he could barely keep himself afloat financially, but how much would it have cost him to come to Ricky's third grade play or Katie's junior high graduation?

"Did you ask her for money too?"

"I didn't have the _chance_ to ask her anything." Jack frowned at her. "And I don't know what you heard, but I never _asked_ Ricky for anything, what kind of a guy do you take me for, Sharon? He _offered_ to help his old man out—_insisted_, really."

Sharon set Jack's coffee in front of him, swallowing as she turned away. That was probably true. Why do something as simple and straightforward as asking when he could guilt his son into thinking it had been his own idea? "And you accepted."

"It was hardly my first choice, Sharon." His expression as he stared down into his coffee was forlorn. "But I didn't think I could come to you again, and my _brother_... James is on vacation in London with Becky and the kids. Lucky them, huh?"

He'd promised to take her to Europe once. She'd gone alone when Ricky had left for college, and spent two weeks in England and France.

"Well," she said coolly, leaning back against the counter and holding his gaze until he looked away. "The next time you're having _difficulties_, you come and work it out with _me_ or with your _brother_, but you _do not_ take more money from your children. Understand?"

"Aye, aye, Captain." Jack chuckled to himself.

Sharon felt a muscle in her jaw twitch, and said a quick, silent prayer for that promotions freeze to come to a quick end. If she heard that _one more time_...

She nursed her coffee, wishing that she'd made tea instead.

"Look." Jack's voice grew softer. "Sharon. There's something else... don't get all keyed up, all right, because it's not a big deal, really, but if you _did_ want to talk about it..."

She could only imagine where this was heading, and it was nowhere that she wanted to be. She shifted her grip on her mug and took another small, careful sip to buy herself a moment. "What else is there?"

"To tell you the truth," he started, leaning towards her, resting his arms on the breakfast bar, "when you called and invited me over, I thought you might finally be ready to talk about how we left things between us last summer."

Oh, God.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes: **Special thanks to SChimes, who told me that there was no limit on the number of jerk moves Jack Raydor was allowed to make in one chapter. :D Though some of them ended up being cut and saved for future chapters anyway. As always, thank you for all of your comments. :)

**When the Winds of Changes Shift**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter IV**

The words hung over them like a thundercloud heavy with rain; Sharon shifted her grip on the empty mug and tried to sidestep it. "It's probably best if we don't—"

"It's been on my mind a lot since last summer," Jack said. "It just hasn't sat right with me how we left things."

"Really," she insisted, twitching at the interruption. Jack should know better than anyone that revising the past was like jumping up and down over a sinkhole about to collapse. "There's no need to—"

"I was just trying to help you out, Sharon."

"I—"

"You—"

"_Don't interrupt me_." She drew herself up, glowering at him. She could feel a headache forming near her temple. Much more of this and Andy wouldn't be the only one with blood pressure problems. Sharon exhaled slowly, silently counting to five, and then she set the mug to the side and gave him a practiced smile. "Jack."

"Okay, okay, you're right." He held up his mug. "Is there more?"

She tilted her head towards the pot and unthinkingly slid sideways as he came around the bar into the kitchen, keeping distance between them. When he filled his cup, he leaned against the counter where he was, leaving them staring at each other from opposite ends of the kitchen.

This silence, too, was familiar.

"So." Jack cleared his throat. "Uh... Anything new with you?"

"Very little."

"You ever get that promotion?"

"Not yet."

"You still think it's coming?" He certainly didn't, if the sympathetic look he gave her was anything to judge by.

"Who can say?"

"Here's hoping it comes soon," he said doubtfully, raising his mug to her. "If you want to have any chance of making chief before you retire."

"I never told you I wanted to be chief of police." She frowned at him, though the words held an uncomfortable ring of truth.

"Of course you do." Jack gave her another look, this one indecipherable but nonetheless she found it grating. "When I met you, you wanted to the the first woman appointed to the Supreme Court."

She smiled faintly at the memory. She was beaten to it, thankfully.

"I'm just saying," Jack went on. "I know you too well. When you do something, you have to be the best."

Her best, not _the_ best, but she doubted Jack appreciated the distinction. It wasn't even that she wanted to be chief of police—though she was willing to admit to having a few wistful thoughts while she'd been trying to coach Chief Johnson to, for the love of God, take the process seriously. It was more that... the Pope couldn't rule forever, and if she was still around at the end of his reign, it would be _nice_ to be in a position to be able to decide whether or not it was something she wanted.

"You never know." It might be nice to retire. She could travel the world. Visit her children.

"Life's funny," Jack agreed. "You were so hellbent on being a lawyer. You know, I never understood why you changed your mind about that. You certainly like arguing enough."

Because he'd left her with two babies, tens of thousands dollars in debt, and inexplicably disillusioned with lawyers, that was why. That would have infuriated her once. Now, it just sounded so absurd that she almost laughed.

She went with a more tactful, "Plans change."

"They certainly do." Jack shook his head. "At least yours went somewhere, I guess."

She'd mourned and buried that dream a long time ago, and she was content with how her life had played out. If her job hadn't always been easy, she had at least known that it was necessary and she could sleep at night knowing that she had done the right thing. She wished her children were close enough to visit more often, but they were living happy, fulfilling lives of their own. Her only regret was that she felt like a hermit sometimes—it had been so long since she'd gone out and _done_ anything, because she had the time she was too tired to go.

But honestly, there was only one area of her life she was truly unhappy with, and he was standing across from her.

Sharon rocked back on her heels.

The last year had left her feeling... uncertain, about things she'd thought were long settled.

Jack turned and poured the last of the coffee into his mug. "You want me to make another?"

She shook her head. She really should've made some tea instead, if she wanted to get to sleep on time tonight.

"So what's the story with Rusty?"

She couldn't help cringing, but that wasn't Jack's fault, for once. "There's no story."

"You ever catch whoever was threatening him?"

She would never, ever forget what it felt like, to be standing on the other side of that door, not knowing if... Sharon folded her arms across her chest. Even now, six months later and with the man dead, it made her blood run cold. "We did."

"And he's still staying here?" Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Most kids can't wait to get out on their own at that age."

"Rusty's not _most kids_," she informed him. "And he's been almost murdered three times, is it really such a surprise I want him where I can keep an eye on him?"

"You, uh..." Jack looked like he was trying to anticipate her response. "You do... know... that he's not _actually_ your kid, don't you?"

"You _do not_ dictate who he is to me." The words came out sharp as knives, sharp enough that even Jack seemed to realize that he had found what was, at the moment, a significantly sore spot.

"You're right, you're right," he said, trying to appease her. "You want to adopt him or something?"

"You know I can't do that." She paused. "Even if I could, I very much doubt that he wants me to."

If she could have, she might have suggested it during those awful months of uncertainty over whether or not she could keep him. But he was an adult now, and no one was making him go anywhere he didn't want to and so far, he had chosen to stay. That was worth something. She felt sure, though, that if the choice were available to Rusty, he would say no.

"You never know," Jack said, and glanced at her. "He bring any girls home yet?"

He was just determined to test her patience in every possible way. "Jack."

"Come on, was I right, or was I right?" he said. "The kid's as gay as the day is long—oh, don't _look_ at me like that, Sharon, there's nothing wrong with that, I just can't believe you didn't notice. It's so obvious you'd have to be _trying_ not to see."

She grit her teeth to keep herself from responding, because she was _not_ going to drag Rusty into this when he wasn't even Jack's son. Unfortunately, Jack misread the tightening of her jaw.

"I get it," he said. "You want Rusty to be normal. But he's never going to be, and you'll just have to accept that."

"Do you think Rusty's life is some kind of _game_, Jack?" She could feel her blood pressure rising, and that vein near her temple throbbed angrily. "What about the lives of _your children_? Do you not think about the mess you leave behind when you just come and go as you please?"

"Whoa," he said. "Sharon. Ricky and I had a perfectly nice time together, and _he_ was happy to see me. I don't know what you've done with Katie—"

"What I've _done?"_ she repeated incredulously. "What _I've_ done?"

"I'm not saying it's _all_ your fault," he said. "I'm not the world's greatest father, I get that, I do, believe me. But I'm trying, and we used to be so close. Is it so hard to believe I want to spend time with my little girl?"

She made a dismissive sound in her throat.

He huffed at her in response. "You certainly know how to make a man feel welcome."

She was too angry to think of something appropriately witty, and just sputtered at him. "Excuse me?"

"It's never been easy with you," he told her. "But that's just how you are and I know you too well, you'll never change, but now it's all sleeping on couches and—and..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said coldly. "Next time, I'll just conjure up a third bedroom out of thin air. And if I am, as you say, so _unwelcoming_, then _you_ are welcome to leave. Now."

"Hey," he protested. "Sharon. It's late. Can't I just—"

"No."

"For tonight—"

"No."

"Where's a guy gonna find a place to sleep this time of night?"

Sharon smiled as pleasantly as she could. "I do believe there is a Best Western right up the street."

* * *

_Hi Mom_

He couldn't seem to get further than that. The words were all there in his head, the _I love you_ and the _I miss you_ and even the _why did you leave me_, though he was honestly a little afraid of the answer, but Rusty couldn't bring his fingers to peck out the words even letter by letter. _Hi Mom_ alone had taken him the better part of a day.

There was a wall of fear around his heart and he couldn't break through; instead, he sat frozen with guilt and indecision.

Rusty shifted in bed, his eyes sliding past the edges of his laptop screen. There was a little gouge in the paint near his headboard. Sharon had wanted to vacuum _under_ the bed. He wasn't sure why, it wasn't like anyone was going to look there, but she had insisted and he had shoved the bed back into place perhaps more forcefully than strictly necessary.

Sharon hadn't been nearly as upset about that as he'd expected. She was weird like that. Things like that, or the time he'd accidentally spilled soda across the table onto the carpet and her new dress, or the time he'd put his phone through the washing machine, she wasn't _happy_ about but for the most part she acted like it was no big deal.

Even when he'd told her that he wanted to take a year off before he went to college, she'd just asked what he planned to do instead and then told him he would have to find out if he could defer his admission or if he would need to reapply the following year. And then she flipped out over the little things, like his driving.

Rusty lowered his chin onto his forearms, stretching out in bed with his eyes closed. He felt restless in here now, but it was past nine and that didn't leave him much time to go anywhere. Sharon went to bed at ten thirty, but she wouldn't go until he was home, and if he kept her up until midnight because he wanted to wander along the beach and clear his head... "I've done it a thousand times and nothing's ever happened" wasn't reasoning that went very far with her, and then she would bring out the stories of people who had been murdered going for nighttime strolls on the beach which was completely unfair because people got murdered doing all kinds of things and that had never kept her from sending him to school.

Was it even safe to leave his room yet? Rusty cocked his head towards the door. Quiet noises from the kitchen had filtered in every once in awhile, the faucet and the clink of glass, and sometimes words that he couldn't make out. It sounded quiet now, though, and how long did it really take to say "hey, don't be an asshole to your kids," anyway?

He could go and stand out on the balcony for awhile.

It wasn't really the _same_, but at least there was fresh air.

Rusty turned over and pushed himself out of bed. He opened the door as quietly as he could, easing his way into the hall. Voices filtered to him clearly now. Jack was still there. He retreated back into his room and shut the door.

He returned to his bed and his laptop. He typed his response to his mother into a text file, afraid that he would accidentally hit send before he'd made up his mind if he typed into the message box on Facebook.

_Hi Mom_

_It's good to hear from you. I've missed you too. _

There. That was... honest. Rusty swallowed.

_I've been_

He stopped again, burying his face into his arms with a frustrated groan. What was he supposed to say, exactly? She knew about Phillip Stroh, sort of. When he'd talked to her on the phone that one time, he'd told her that he'd helped the police catch a serial killer. He wasn't sure that she'd _believed_ him, but okay, that wasn't entirely her fault, who _would_ believe him?

But she didn't know _how_ he had helped, and the thought of telling his mother why exactly he'd been at that particular spot in Griffith Park, at night, with Doug—no, he couldn't tell her that. He couldn't tell her what he'd let people to do him so that he could eat. He couldn't even tell her the less honest but still technically true story that he lived with Sharon because he'd run away from his other foster homes too many times, because even that made it sound like he was angry and troubled and everything that he wasn't but that he _had_ been the day his mom had taken him to the zoo.

Rusty wanted to believe that his mother had changed, but she needed to be willing to give him the same chance.

_I graduated high school in _

He stopped again. That was a better start, but if he told her that he went to some expensive Catholic school, what if she decided that Sharon thought she was better than them because she had money? He was worried that Sharon would judge his mother, but he didn't want his mother judging Sharon, either.

He deleted everything and started over.

_Hi Mom_

When Sharon rapped gently on his door at a quarter to ten, that was as far as he'd gotten. With a sigh, Rusty shut his laptop and swung his legs over the side of the bed. "You can come in."

The door opened slowly. Sharon poked her head in. "Hey."

"Hey," he said, watching as she leaned against the doorway.

She smiled faintly. "I wanted to be sure you knew how much I appreciate your giving me some privacy."

"It's fine, Sharon." What had she expected, that he would insist on camping out in the living room and queueing up Netflix? He gave her a cautious look. "So... did that... go..."

Her little smile began to reverse itself. "Not quite as well as I would've hoped."

"So he's not staying?"

Sharon gave a tiny shake of her head. "No."

"Oh." Rusty hesitated. "Are you, like... okay, or..."

Sharon glanced away and cleared her throat before answering. Was that a no, or... what? "Don't even worry about me."

Right. He would do that.

"Hey, Sharon?" he said. "Thanks, for... um, not letting Jack ask about Kris."

She just nodded, and that's when he realized—"You tried to keep him from asking me that last summer too."

Her cardigan didn't have pockets. Instead, she wrapped the ends tight around herself, hugging her arms to her chest to hold it in place. "I was trying to keep you from having to answer before you were ready," she said at last.

"But..." Rusty tilted his head at her. "Did you _know?_ About me."

"No," she said. "I didn't know until you told me. But I did... wonder."

"You never said anything."

She just shrugged.

Rusty stared at her. Sharon, the woman who insisted on knowing absolutely _everything_ whether it was any of her business or not, had let him keep his secret. And—another epiphany followed on the heels of that one—if Sharon had known, then Provenza had known, and if _Provenza_ had known, then _everyone_ had know, and... And no one had said a word to him. Not one word.

He hadn't even realized.

There was an uncomfortable sort of pressure in his chest.

"Thanks," he said quietly. He didn't trust himself to say more than that.

"You told me in your own time."

"Not exactly." Rusty shifted uncomfortably. "I only told you because I didn't want you to hear it from Chief Taylor or Stroh's lawyer. The creepy blond one. God, how could you even defend someone like that?"

* * *

The sudden change of topic startled her less than the direction he chose to go in. It was hardly unusual for Rusty to divert the conversation away from whatever he felt was too personal at the moment, which, depending on his mood, potentially included everything but chess and what he wanted to eat for dinner.

But he was looking at her like he actually expected an answer. Sharon leaned her hip against the doorframe, her fingers burrowing into her sleeves. "I'm not sure that I could," she admitted. "It would be very difficult. But everyone is entitled to a lawyer, you know. Even Phillip Stroh."

"Not everyone," he grumbled. "Not witnesses."

She felt laughter bubble in her throat for the first time all night. "Not witnesses," she agreed.

Rusty ducked his head, staring at her feet. "I guess I didn't really need a lawyer."

Sharon pressed her lips together. He'd told her that he loved her exactly twice, if she counted the fact that he'd written _Love, Rusty_ inside her birthday card. This might as well have been a third.

She didn't tell him as often as she should, either. "I think you've done all right without one."

He smiled, and it made her heart ache. He had come so far from the sullen, wounded boy who she'd brought home with her. She wanted to be around to see him grow into himself the rest of the way. She knew that it wasn't up to her when he left, but she hoped that it wasn't _quite_ yet.

She hoped that his mother wouldn't throw him off-kilter.

"Sharon?" He was giving her a funny look.

She shook her head. "Don't mind me," she said, straightening. "I was just... thinking."

"Are you—I know you already said, but like, are you sure you're okay?"

Six months ago, he wouldn't have thought to ask once, let alone twice. Sharon swallowed as she nodded.

"'cause you were kind of... earlier... I mean..."

"Oh," she said. "No, I—I mean yes, but—" She cleared her throat, and reiterated, "You don't need to worry about me."

"So do you and Jack just, like, see each other once a year or something?"

"He used to come around more often," she said, even as she wondered why she was telling him this when it was certainly none of his business. "Christmas dinners. Birthdays. But yes, recently our contact has been more... limited."

"It kinda seems like you guys don't... really want to be around each other." He paused, adding as an afterthought, "No offense."

"None taken," she said wryly.

"But it's not just you, either," he said, and shrugged. "My mom and her boyfriends... and, like, Lieutenant Provenza's been divorced a _thousand_ times."

An impressive accomplishment since, also according to Rusty, the lieutenant was only a hundred and ten. Sharon feared she was losing her battle not to smile.

She couldn't tell if he was fishing for information about her life, wanting reassurance, or something else entirely. "It's... true that what Jack and I have isn't what I would want for you," she said. She'd had this conversation a hundred times with her other children. "And it's true that many relationships don't last, but there are plenty of good things too. Companionship, for one. Intimacy."

Sex. She really, really missed sex.

Rusty gave her a skeptical look. "Okay," he said, in a tone that clearly meant _you are wrong about everything_.

Sharon shook her head. "I hope you find someone who is good to you," she told him. "Someone who is kind, and thoughtful, and treats you with respect."

"I know."

Something else occurred to her then. "_Is_ there someone—"

"No!" He fidgeted as he denied it, but then he added, "Even if there was, how am I supposed to _date_ anyone, Sharon? Without telling them... things, and I know, I know, you'll say that the right person won't care and you're _right_, but what if I tell the _wrong_ person?"

There were moments when it was harder than anything not to take him in her arms and whisper something reassuring into his ear.

"It's tough," she agreed instead. "Knowing who to trust."

"Yeah."

He glanced away as he said it, and that was clearly not the reaction of someone who wanted to keep talking. She shifted her weight to the other foot, taking a step backwards.

"Do you want to, like, sit down or something?"

She tilted her head in surprise.

Rusty shrugged. "You've been standing there the whole time and if we're going to keep talking..."

She'd thought that the conversation was over, actually, but that was definitely an invitation. She came a little closer. He still kept more clothes on the floor than in the hamper, but his sheets looked like they'd been washed in the last year. Rusty moved his laptop to the nightstand and scooted to make room for her. She sat at the edge of the bed near his feet, drawing one knee up onto the bed next to her.

"Was there something on your mind?" she prompted.

"I, um..." He drew his legs closer to his chest, and gave her a wary look over the top of his knees. "Don't take this the wrong way, okay?"

She knew exactly what he was going to tell her then. She started to cross her arms, the motion defensive and for her own comfort, but she caught herself. She didn't want to make herself look not responsive to what he needed to tell her, especially not right now. She clasped her hands in her lap instead, her fingers knit tightly together.

It took him a moment to work himself up to saying it. "I want to see my mother."

"I know you do."

And she did. She'd always known that he would, even when he had seemed uncertain. That wound had been bleeding for too long, and he needed the closure. He needed answers that only his mother could give him. But hearing it straight from him, expected though it was, only made her anxiety double, because that could go a hundred different ways and not all of them were good.

Rusty gave her an uncertain look. "Sharon? I, um... I know you said it was okay, but like, is that... really okay? That I want to, I mean?"

"Rusty." She would hug him, if she thought that he would allow it, but he sat stiff and guarded, and she knew he would flinch if she slid closer. Instead, she touched the top of his foot, briefly, and withdrew her hand. "I'm not going to tell you I won't worry, but I... understand that you need to see your mother, and I—I would never..."

When her voice faltered, his expression remained unconvinced, and the unhappy shadow on his face only lengthened.

Sharon swallowed hard, her fingers twisting themselves around in the fabric her sleeves. "This is about you," she said at last, . "And I will support you however I can. I hope you know that."

He gave her a long look, like he was searching her face for answers.

"Yeah," he said finally. "Okay. I know."

It hurt to hear the doubt in his voice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes: **Uh... I swear there will be a happy ending eventually? :D Thank you for all of your comments!

**When the Winds of Changes Shift**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter V**

He hadn't lied to Sharon the night before, when she'd asked.

Not exactly.

There_ wasn't_ anyone. Not really.

It was just easier for everyone if there wasn't.

First of all, Rusty was pretty sure that Nate liked girls. Or at least one girl in particular, because when his nose wasn't buried in a textbook, he spent his breaks texting someone named Becky. Rusty wasn't spying on him or anything. It was just that... the break room here was really small, okay, and there was only one table, and Nate had left his phone sitting there when he'd gotten up to get a drink of water once, and Rusty had been sort of looking in that direction anyway and he couldn't help seeing the name. It wasn't like he'd read the messages or anything.

Today, Nate seemed even more focused than usual, and in addition to his textbook, the table was cluttered with several labeled outlines of the human body. Rusty, who was far less productively spending his lunch playing chess on his phone, peeked over every once in awhile. Just because. No reason.

Something about the way he smiled made Rusty's palms sweat.

... He was lucky, then, that right now Nate wasn't smiling. And lucky that right now, Nate seriously had no idea that anything else existed beyond his very limited area of attention. The look on his face reminded Rusty of how he felt when he was interrupted at chess, even if it wasn't really the same thing.

Right. Chess.

He turned back to his phone.

He happened to be looking up again when Nate shifted through his papers and one of them slid to the floor. Rusty bent to retrieve it for him, and passed it across the table. "Here."

"Thanks, man."

Smile.

"Uh." Rusty realized too late he should've just smiled back and gone back to his game. "You have a test or something?"

"Tomorrow." Nate gave him a rueful grin and okay, that had the same effect as the regular smile. "All the bones. Next week is muscles."

Rusty stared, momentarily forgetting to be distracted. "You have to learn all this in a week?"

"Yeah." Nate grimaced. "Turns out when they say don't take A and P over the summer, it's no joke."

It was just, like, _friendly_ to continue the conversation, and Nate was pulling all the papers together like he meant to put them away so Rusty wasn't interrupting anything or... anything. "So... why did you?"

"It messed up my schedule for all of next year if I didn't," Nate said gloomily. "So I have to finish it now. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm not... uh..." Rusty shifted, suddenly uncomfortable as he was reminded that oh yes, reality existed. "Next year. I want to save up some money first." And hope that Phillip Stroh _actually_ went to trial and he could just... move on.

"That's cool."

He shrugged. "So you want to be a doctor?"

"It's kind of a family tradition at this point." Nate started cramming books into his backpack. "Mom's a surgeon, Dad's a neurologist, and my sister's in her last year of med school... what choice did I have, right?" He laughed. "The plan is to be a pediatrician, but who knows?"

Rusty suddenly felt like a giant underachiever.

He was more relieved than anything else when Nate's phone beeped at him. "Time's up," Nate said. "I'll see you back out there."

"See you," Rusty echoed.

The room was still without him, the silence oddly loud, and a faint trace of his body spray lingered. Not that Rusty was paying special attention to how Nate smelled. That was just... having a nose. It was a very small room.

But like, Nate had his entire life figured out and his family was probably super rich if his parents were both doctors... or maybe not, if Nate was working here... or maybe yes, because Sharon wasn't poor but Rusty had insisted on working here himself. But at any rate, they sounded successful. Rusty couldn't help remembering that time he'd had dinner with Kris and her parents. Even before he'd started playing up the threatening letters angle, he could tell they hadn't been impressed with him.

And Nate seemed like he was a nice guy—like, really a nice guy—but it had _definitely_ not been a lie when he'd told Sharon that there was no way he could date anyone. Phillip Stroh hadn't even gone to trial yet. Who knew if he ever would, really? Sometimes Rusty thought that it really _was_ going to last the rest of his life, but until that was over with, these were the conversations he had to look forward to when meeting new people:

_What do you like to do in your spare time?_ "Last week, I testified against a serial killer in court. It was super fun."

_Wow, how did that happen?_ "I saw him burying a dead girl in Griffith Park in the middle of the night."

_What were you doing in Griffith Park in the middle of the night._ "Hustling."

Yeah. Rusty was sure that would go real well, but he couldn't just _lie_ about it either, because it was kind of an important case and sooner or later he would get found out. It was best that he just avoid relationships entirely because he was pretty sure no one would want to date him when the truth came out.

Which was fine with him, because he didn't want to date anyone, either.

It was a terrible idea.

What did normal people even _do_ on dates, anyway? None of his had ever taken him to dinner.

Rusty scowled at the tabletop, his good mood gone.

He didn't talk about this stuff with Sharon, but Dr. Joe seemed to think that he could work through all of that.

Rusty paused.

Maybe he should call Dr. Joe.

Not to talk about his romantic troubles. He wasn't having any of those. To talk about the stuff with his mother.

After everything that had happened last winter, Rusty had agreed to see Dr. Joe again. Sharon and Dr. Joe had suggested weekly appointments, but _that_ had sounded like an awful lot to Rusty and he'd said how about once a month instead? In the end, he'd gone once every other week. He'd thought it had helped. It had helped his game, at least. He hadn't made another appointment since graduation. It was harder to schedule now that he was working and he thought he was doing better, and... honestly, was it too much to ask to feel normal for a change?

He just wished that... well, he didn't know what he wished. Not anymore.

He'd finally written back to his mother.

_Hi Mom_

_I've missed you so much. I hope you're doing better. I love you. I want to see you._

It was stilted and painful, but it was honest, and it was all that he had. He was still working on the rest.

His phone buzzed at him with her answer right before he went back to work.

_Rusty_

_I'm so glad to hear from you. Here's the number you can reach me at for now. I would love to hear your voice._

* * *

She could smell garlic ten paces from the door.

Sharon smiled and let herself in. Lunch had been half a sandwich eaten while she'd been passed from person to person during an extremely frustrating phone call to the university in Arizona her dead philosophy professor had taught at before coming to LA. She could've hitchhiked to Phoenix and back in the time it had taken before she'd been transferred to the dean of humanities who had confirmed for her that, yes, Dr. Alvarez had had several affairs with his female undergrads.

And they still hadn't found the murder scene.

By the time she slid her purse down her arm, Sharon was frowning and acutely aware of how her feet ached. Nothing about this week had gone according to plan.

"Hey." Rusty poked his head out of the kitchen when she set her purse down.

"Hey." For him, she found another smile. "Something smells good in there."

"Really?" But his face lit up at the praise. "I just took the leftover chicken and the leftover pasta and added some sauce and stuff. And I found some salad mix in the fridge that looks kinda..." He trailed off, wrinkling his nose. "But like, it's fine."

"I'm sure," she said dryly. Sharon stepped out of her heels, her spine protesting as she bent to pick them up. She rolled her shoulders back when she straightened up, but there was a stubborn tension there. With her free hand, she rubbed the back of her neck. "I'm going to get changed. I'll be right out."

Her room was cool and quiet, blessedly welcome after a long day. Sharon went to her closet and put away her shoes, hanging up her jacket next. She left the closet doors open when she went to her dresser in search of something more comfortable to wear. Five minutes later, she had slipped into a pair of loose black pants and a deep violet t-shirt, and she was shrugging her favorite cardigan into place. Sharon returned to the closet to put away the clothes she had just changed out of, and only then did she take a moment to lie down on her bed.

Just for a moment, she told herself. Just until it was time to eat.

She might have fallen asleep, if Rusty hadn't knocked on her door. "Sharon?"

With a quiet groan, she opened her eyes. "Is everything all right?"

"Dinner's ready."

She heaved a deep sigh and sat up slowly. "I'm coming."

Rusty waited for her in the hall. "If you're tired, I can save you some." It became a far less considerate offer when he added, "I know that, like, sleep is really important or something at your age."

He wasn't quite fast enough to avoid being swatted in the arm as she passed him, but he just grinned and trotted off towards the kitchen. Sharon rolled her eyes and followed him, but honestly... she was glad that he was joking with her again. He had been so uncomfortable these last few days, so guarded and unsure. She hoped that this meant he was beginning to relax again.

At the table, Sharon deemed the salad safe to eat after all, and took half. Rusty carried the pot from the stove to the table and set it on the trivet before taking a seat opposite her.

"So," she said, helping herself to some pasta. "How was your day?" She resisted the urge to add "young man."

"It was... fine." The little pause made her wonder, but he added hesitantly, "I get paid tomorrow. If you still wanted to go out."

"I do." She smiled at him.

He didn't smile back.

Sharon ate her way through a few slow bites, waiting to see if he would tell her. He didn't. "Is there something else?"

"Uh," he said, and she could practically see him withdraw into himself, head lowered, arms crossed. "It's just that my mom... um, she—I answered her and she wrote back. She still wants to see me."

She remembered that the first time she had seen Rusty actually smile had been when he'd thought his mother had been happy to hear his voice, and she remembered the expression on his face when his mother hadn't been on that bus after all. She remembered her brief conversation with the woman herself, and she remembered the abandoned boy who had sat in Chief Johnson's interview room, a knot on his forehead and scratches all across his chest and back as he'd told them how his mother had left, trying so hard to mask the tears with anger.

So far, very little had endeared her towards Sharon Beck.

Sharon wasn't without sympathy for her, and for Rusty's sake she hoped that his mother _was_ doing better, but... she also had some serious concerns about the effect this reunion with his mother would have on him. She was uneasy enough about the ones it already seemed to be having, and they hadn't even seen each other yet.

But now was not the time or the place to discuss that—he did not have the appearance of someone who looked receptive to hearing that right now, and Sharon wasn't sure that she was the right person to discuss those concerns with him in the first place. She wondered if she could bribe the lieutenant with Dodger's tickets and printer ink.

For now, all she could do was try to smile for him. "That's good news, isn't it?"

Rusty gave her a suspicious look, eyeing her with his chin lowered defensively. "Yes?"

"And you're going to see her," she said matter-of-factly. That had always been a question of when, not if.

He nodded warily, still watching her like she was a stranger.

"Where are you two meeting?"

"We... haven't really decided yet." Rusty hesitated. "I wasn't going to bring her here, if that's what you're worried about."

The look he gave her was almost accusatory. Sharon frowned at him. He seemed to rethink it a moment later, because he mumbled an apology with downcast eyes. She sighed, and shifted her plate slightly to the side, too distracted now to keep eating.

"It would probably be best if you met at a more... neutral location at first," she said, as carefully as she could. "Like a restaurant. But if you would _like_ to bring your mother here, later on... we can discuss that."

"Yeah," he said. "You're probably right. I just thought... maybe she'd want to see where I've been living. So she knows that I've been okay."

The uncertainty in his voice broke her heart. She couldn't tell if the doubt was for whether or not she would let him bring his mother to the condo or for whether or not his mother cared that he had been well taken care of in her absence. Some of each, maybe, and _that_ made her feel tremendously guilty because she had never wanted to be the reason he looked so... lost.

"Rusty..." There were so many things she should tell him. "I hope your mother is doing better."

"She seems to be." He finally smiled then, but his voice was quiet and filled with doubt. "She looks better, and she sounds... more like she used to."

"So you've spoken with her?"

When he winced, she knew that he hadn't meant to tell her that. "Yeah. She sounds better. Like I said."

"I'm glad," she told him. What was she doing so wrong that made him feel he couldn't be honest with her about this? Did he think she didn't know how much he had missed his mother?

Rusty fidgeted uncomfortably. "Can we just, like, not talk about this anymore?"

"Of course." Sharon held up her hands. "We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to."

"Okay." He paused and then, in spite of the words he'd just said, added, "You don't even _know_ her, Sharon."

"I don't," Sharon agreed cautiously, not sure if he actually wanted an answer from her.

He didn't.

"You think you do," he went on. "Because you ran a background check on her or whatever and because she didn't come back for me, but you _don't_, okay? She wasn't always... she used to..." His voice trailed off, and he looked at her, his expression still so terribly young. "She used to be different."

His voice cracked on the last word, just a little.

"Rusty," she said softly.

He shook his head.

"You don't have to pretend it's all right with you," he went on, fidgeting in his seat. "Because I know it's not and I get that, but you don't—you can't—you can't tell me not to see her."

"Rusty." She spoke more firmly now. "I have _no intention_ of—"

"No!" His voice rose. "Just _don't, _Sharon."

Sometimes, it was best to just let him get it out of his system. They had done this more, in the beginning, when he'd been more prone to lashing out at the slightest provocation. He had calmed down over time, as he'd started to feel safe with her, but whenever he was emotionally distressed—and if this didn't count, she didn't know what did—those were the times when all his defenses came back up and he shouted things he didn't mean, and she had learned that the best way to handle that was to just let him do it. Two minutes from now, they would be having a rational conversation.

"You think I don't _know_ she wasn't a great mother?" He scoffed, rising to pace beside his chair. "I know that, Sharon! I had to grow up with her, okay? And it was _terrible_. But guess what, Sharon, Jack wasn't a great father, either, and you still want your kids to see _him_, so you can't—you have _no right_ to tell me not to see my mother."

It had been a long time since he'd said something that had actually hurt her. "Rusty," she said, standing too, and he paused, looking at her like he might be willing to listen. "That's—"

"Don't _say_ that it's different, because it's not different! No, okay, it's _exactly_ the same," he insisted. He was stretching the hem of his shirt so far she was surprised it hadn't torn yet. "And it doesn't matter anyway, because you're _not_ my mother, Sharon." He was throwing words like knives, and each one thudded painfully into her heart, buried to the hilt. "You're not, and I can't help it if I love her more than—"

He'd gone too far and he knew it, because he stopped before he said it, his eyes growing wide and horrified as he stared at her, abruptly still. But it was too late for him to take it back and she knew exactly what he had been about to say, and she too stood frozen, one hand pressed to her chest where her heart used to be.

Silence reigned.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes: **Haha wow, I did not expect the response to the last chapter at all - thank you so much for all of your comments! :D As promised, I have fixed them! Mostly. For those of you who are wondering, we _will_ meet The Other Sharon soon. Thank you for reading!

**When the Winds of Changes Shift**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter VI**

Sharon looked like he'd slapped her.

There was no other word for it; she stared at him, wounded and stunned, and Rusty stood there and stared back, jittery with adrenaline and his heart still racing in his chest. Her lips moved silently, her mouth half open as she stood there in disbelief, and he couldn't understand it, either, couldn't believe that he had _said_—but he couldn't reach out and cram those terrible words back down his throat again.

For a long, unbearable moment, the words hung over them.

His face felt hot with self-loathing, and he itched all over.

Sharon recovered first.

"Excuse me," she said quietly, and turned away. She headed for her room, walking like someone in pain.

His tongue came unglued long enough for him to call after her. "Sharon..."

He couldn't think of what to say after that, and she didn't turn around. He watched her go and then sank back down into his seat, bringing his fist down upon the table. It didn't help; when the plates rattled, he winced and stood up again, turning in a confused circle. Part of him needed to scream, part of him wanted to heave his glass against the kitchen floor with as much force as he could muster just to watch it shatter, but most of him knew that then he'd only have two things to feel guilty about instead of one.

And he knew that it wouldn't do any good, because he just wanted to rage against himself. He still tasted the bitterness of the words in his mouth, and it had been so _easy_ to spit them out. Rusty ran an anxious hand through his hair.

He had to fix this.

He had no idea how to fix this.

He wasn't sure that he _could_ fix this.

Rusty sat down and glared at the table, the residual anger draining away into hopelessness. He'd said plenty of awful things to Sharon before, things that he hadn't meant but said anyway because she had irritated him or gotten too close or... there were still things that he'd said and he didn't know why, and she had forgiven him for all of that, but this... was different.

Maybe he would figure out what to say when he saw her, but there was silence from her room and he wasn't brave enough to get up and knock on the door yet. He wasn't sure how welcome that would be right now. He hoped she would come back herself, but she didn't.

When fifteen minutes passed, he accepted that Sharon wasn't leaving her room anytime soon. Rusty stood and cleared the table, carrying each plate back to the kitchen to be put away, each one a heavy reminder of how wrong he was.

* * *

It took her ten minutes to calm down enough to think clearly, ten minutes of lying flat on her back with her eyes closed, ten minutes of hugging a pillow to her chest (they were so easy to hold), ten minutes of deep breaths in through her nose and out through her mouth, in and out and in and out, all in a desperate attempt to keep the tears at bay. She felt one or two escape, and then she lifted a hand to her face, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her sleeve and taking more slow, shaky breaths until her head cleared.

She didn't cry.

Instead, she let out another of those measured breaths, and tried to think. She supposed that it had only been a matter of time before everything unsaid between them exploded. Maybe this would be for the best in the end, now that they had gotten it out of the way.

It had still hurt, what he'd said. She already knew that he wished he hadn't. She knew that he had been agitated and panicked and that he was horrified with himself now, just as she knew that before they went to bed tonight, she would get up and find him and they would talk about it, but in the meantime she had to let herself feel the hurt or it would only get worse instead of better when they did sit down together.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that she wasn't really his mother, and she knew that she had let herself get careless in referring to herself that way to other people. She knew that he didn't think of her that way—he had never asked her to be his mother, and she had never tried to replace her because that couldn't be done, but in her heart, he was her son.

It had always been complicated.

Rusty was deeply, deeply attached to his mother, and he loved her, and he missed her more than he would ever admit to anyone, especially to her. She had even confided it to Jack of all people—they had never talked about it, but she doubted Rusty wanted her to be his mother. And that was all right. He didn't have to. He could love them both.

But then, when they had still been getting used to each other, she had learned that he responded to her best when she treated him as if he were hers, so that was what she had done. And it had worked. If she had known that Sharon Beck would pop up out of nowhere almost two years after she'd disappeared in Bakersfield... she probably would have done everything exactly the same, actually, but Sharon had honestly never expected to hear from the woman ever again.

Her phone buzzed. Sharon reached for it, expecting Rusty—though she didn't know why, when he was still in the living room—and just hoping that she wasn't about to be called away to prevent a major catastrophe, because that was the _last_ thing she was prepared to deal with tonight...

She groaned when she saw the name.

Jack.

She hadn't expected to hear from him again so soon. She'd hurt his feelings and wounded his pride—both were things she could live with—and his standard MO was to drop out of sight and sulk. For years, usually. She stared long and hard at her phone, and then hit the ignore button. She only had so much left in her tonight, and it wasn't going to him.

She sat up and opened the drawer to her nightstand. She didn't use her iPod often—she kept it mostly for nights when she had trouble sleeping and needed something to soothe her, but her CD's were in the living room and she wasn't going out there until she felt ready to talk to Rusty so she stuck in the earphones and made herself comfortable, breathing easily to the sound of Mozart until there was a knock at the door.

Sharon opened her eyes.

She'd thought she would have to go to him.

He must be feeling brave tonight.

She tugged out the headphones and sat up, standing quickly before either of them changed their minds.

* * *

He hadn't expected Sharon to answer the door right away. He wasn't sure why, because they'd had plenty of fights and she had never been one to hold a grudge or onto her anger any longer than she had to. With Sharon, there was an apology and a discussion, and then they moved on. That was how it worked, and Rusty liked that about her, and it really didn't sound like a better option to try and sleep on it and apologize to her in the morning, but—well, he wasn't sure that he would ever be ready for it, either.

She watched him quietly, arms folded across her chest. "Yes?"

"Um." His tongue felt too heavy for his mouth. "Can I... talk to you?"

She gave him a tiny nod. He stepped back, giving her space to leave her room, and followed a few steps behind her as they moved to the living room. It was easier, not having to look at her face—he got the feeling, sometimes, that she thought she worse an impenetrable mask that kept her emotions safely secured away, but she... didn't. Like, at all. And right now, she didn't even look angry, just... hurt. And sad.

He sat as far from her as he could. "I..."

When he floundered, she held up her hand. "Let me talk first," she said. "Before you go any further."

Rusty just nodded.

Sharon picked up one of the throw pillows before speaking, and he almost smiled. It was what she did when she was stressed or upset or angry and okay, it was entirely his fault that she was feeling that way now, but it was strangely comforting in its familiarity.

Sharon cleared her throat. "I'm perfectly aware that Jack was not the ideal father," she said, tightening her arms around the pillow. "Or the ideal husband, for that matter. But for all his many, _many_ failings, he is a devil I know, and I have never met your mother—but you know her very well, so I understand that I—that my behavior may have seemed inconsistent to you.

"I would also like to say..." She released a deep breath, closing her eyes. "That while I may have... on occasion... acted as a parent would, I am _also_ perfectly aware that I'm not your mother, and I—if I've ever—" Her arms trembled from the effort as she crushed that pillow to her chest, and he hardly understood what she was saying but knew that he should say something anyway, anything, but his throat was so tight that he could barely breathe, and the pain went all the way down into his chest. "If I've ever given you the impression that I thought I could replace her—"

"No," he blurted out. He could barely breathe. "No, Sharon, I didn't mean—" He caught himself. He couldn't tell her now that he hadn't meant it, because—she _wasn't_ his mother. But in his mind, he kept seeing her stricken face as he'd told her so, and that... that had felt so utterly wrong too, and he had no idea how everything had gotten so mixed up inside of him or what he could do to make it any better.

"Oh, you meant it." Her smile was sad.

"I was just... please, Sharon, just listen, okay?" At her nod, he took a deep breath, and said, "I want to believe that my mom is better, but I—I don't trust her, really, because she's lied to me my entire life and there were times when she thought she was doing better when she wasn't, not really."

His next breath felt a little less like choking. "She's my mom, Sharon, and I love her, and if I don't see her, then I'll—I'll never... I'll always wonder. And I want to believe that she's changed, but I know she probably hasn't, and when you started asking all those questions, I—I just... I didn't know what to do."

"I understand," she said quietly.

"But I'm sorry for saying that, you know, I loved her more than you." He couldn't look at her as he said it, staring at her shoulder instead of her face. "It's—it's not _like_ that. I mean..."

"Stop explaining yourself, honey." Sharon reached forward to lay her hand on his knee. "You're not going to do yourself any favors."

She was probably right.

"But that was, um, a really terrible thing to say to you, and I'm sorry," he said. "I am so, _so_ sorry, Sharon. I—I... I do love you."

"I know that." She loosened the stranglehold she had on the pillow.

"It's just that—" He sucked in a mouthful of air, trying to work up the courage to say it. "She might leave me again."

She gave him a sad look, but said nothing.

Rusty swallowed. "Do you think I don't know that? And if she doesn't leave, then she'll probably lie to me, and I _know_ why you're worried and I've thought about it too, but..." Another swallow, this one more painful than the first. "If that's what happens, that's okay, I can deal with that, as long as—I—I mean..."

He stopped again, grinding his teeth together. As long as he had someone to help him pick up the pieces afterwards.

"Come here," Sharon said quietly, beckoning him closer.

Rusty didn't need telling twice. Her arm curled around his shoulders when he was close enough, drawing him in for a tight hug. Rusty wrapped both arms around her and buried his face into her shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut. He felt a few tears leak out anyway and shook with the effort it took not to sniffle, and lost the battle anyway when her other arm came up around him. Her shoulders quivered but he felt her breath on his cheek and that came steadily. She held him folded in her arms like she never wanted to let him go, and this time, he didn't complain.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again.

"I know," she whispered back. "I know."

Her arms loosened around him, enough that he could have sat up easily if he'd wanted to. Rusty didn't usually last this long before he got uncomfortable. He knew she knew that and he was really glad that she never seemed to take that personally, but—this time, it was easier to lean into her and not have to see her face. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Sharon?"

She hummed in his ear.

"It's not like I've been wishing you were my mom this whole time," he said. Not anymore, anyway. "You know that, don't you?"

"I know." Her voice was tight again.

Rusty realized too late that he probably should have phrased that differently.

"Sit up," she said quietly, speaking into his ear. "Look at me."

He did, scooting back to the middle of the couch this time, instead of the far end.

"I've always known that you love your mother," she told him. "And I've always known that you miss her, and that you're perfectly capable of loving us both. That's never been what I worried about, and I hope you know that you have my support in whatever you do. And my love."

He tried to smile. "Whatever happens?"

She made a quiet sound in answer.

"I do know that," he said quietly. "And I—I really am sorry."

Sharon reached out, smoothing his bangs away from his face. "I'm glad."

"Is everything, like, okay, or..." He left the question unfinished. Because it wasn't, obviously, but he didn't know how else to ask.

Sharon looked at him a moment, then smiled faintly. "I have an idea," she said. "I know it's late, but I hardly ate, and I'm sure you're still hungry."

He just nodded.

"Let's not wait until tomorrow, then," she said. "Let's go out now."

Rusty blinked at her. "What?"

"I think we could both use some fresh air," she told him. "What do you say?"

"I..." After everything he'd said earlier, this wasn't really how he'd expected tonight to end, but she had a point. If they stayed in, this would hang over their heads for the rest of the night and into tomorrow. Rusty wasn't sure that it wouldn't _anyway_, but... "Where?"

"How about..." She considered that a moment. "How about you take me out for pie?"

He couldn't help smiling. "Really?"

"Of course, if you _don't_ want pie—"

"Can I drive?"

Sharon paused. "I'll think about it," she relented at last. "Go find your shoes."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes: **We will finally meet The Other Sharon in the next chapter. Thank you for all of your comments! :)

**When the Winds of Changes Shift**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter VII**

"Does the captain seem a little off to you?"

Provenza glanced up from his crossword. "Why do I care? Why do you care?"

"She seems a little off to me." It was like Flynn wasn't even listening to him. "She's been quiet for a couple of days."

"I wouldn't know," Provenza informed him. "I can't remember that far back. In fact, by this time tomorrow, it'll be like we never had this conversation."

He couldn't wait for that.

But Flynn was at least an _observant_ idiot, because Provenza had noticed it too.

The phone call a few days ago, the one that she'd taken in her office. She'd been distracted ever since then, and she had hardly taken any satisfaction at Amy's discovery that their dead professor had probably been murdered by one of the two teaching assistants he'd been doing a little after-hours studying with. Which one of them had actually done it remained to be seen yet; Sanchez and Sykes were out rounding them up.

He wondered what the excuse would be this time. Jealousy, revenge, or maybe even a good old "it just happened." He'd heard it all before. There was nothing new under the sun.

Sharon had given the order to pick up both of their suspects and then she had retreated into her office. The blinds were open and Provenza could see that there was paperwork on the desk in front of her, but her concentration was failing her; she looked up every two seconds to take a sip of tea or check her watch or tuck her hair behind her ears, and any moment now she was bound to notice that Flynn (the idiot) was staring at her.

Provenza rolled up his newspaper. Flynn was sitting too far away to reach over and whack him, so he lobbed it at him instead.

"Hey," he grumbled, rubbing the back of his head. "What was that for?"

"That was a warning," Provenza informed him. "Next is the stapler. I think you need a new psychiatrist. This one's not doing a damn thing for you."

Flynn rolled his eyes, but the door opened before he could answer to the sound of Sanchez's voice instructing, "This way, please, ma'am."

So there was a God.

"This is like, _totally_ illegal," a woman's voice complained. "I already _told_ you, my roommate used the computer last night, and the night before that, _and_ the night before—"

"You're not here because you torrent _Game of Thrones_." He could tell from Amy's voice that this was at least the third time she'd said it. "We need to ask you a few questions about James Alvarez. Down the hall, Ms. Janson."

Provenza cleared his throat, doing his damnedest not to laugh until the young woman Sykes and Sanchez were ushering in was safely escorted down to interview one. Flynn chuckled quietly, and shook his head as he waved Sanchez over.

"I thought there were two," Provenza said. He took another glance at the woman standing with Sykes and an officer. She was all of five feet tall with hair that resembled rainbow sherbet. Which wasn't to say that she _wasn't_ a psychopath, but given that the body had been moved, his money was on the other one. Or maybe they'd done it together. He'd seen that before too.

"The other one, Rebecca Brown, she wasn't at work, sir," Sanchez said in a low voice. "Cancelled her study sessions for the day and stayed home sick. We sent a patrol car to her house to see if she's there."

Provenza nodded, and waved Sanchez back toward Sykes and the woman with her. "I'll let the captain know."

"I could—"

"You could _not_ be an idiot and go wait in electronics," Provenza suggested. "Tao's already there. He and Buzz were..." He rolled his eyes as he stood up. "Something about a new... electro something."

Small favors and all that because Flynn did as he was told, and Provenza crossed the room to alert the captain. He retrieved his crossword on the way there, tucking it beneath his arm before he knocked on the door.

"Come in."

"Sanchez and Sykes brought in Anna Janson," he informed her. "They're waiting in interview one, whenever you're ready."

"What about the other young woman?" she asked. "What was her name, again?"

"Rebecca Brown. Called in sick," he said. "Patrol went by her house to pick her up, if she's there."

"Let's start with seeing what Anna has to say for herself, then." Sharon stood. She hadn't taken more than two steps away from her desk when her phone rang; she fished it out of her pocket and whoever it was, it wasn't someone she was anxious to hear from. Her face darkened for a moment when she silenced the ringer.

"You look like I do when my ex calls."

She gave him a bland sort of look as she turned the phone all the way off. "I know for a fact you and Liz have dinner every other Sunday."

"Not Liz," he told her. "Heather."

"Ah." She slid the phone back into her pocket.

"Uh, Captain. Sharon." He cleared his throat. "How are things?"

Her long silence didn't bode well.

"When was the last time you spoke to Rusty?" she said at last.

"After he got fired the second time," he said, and her lips curved into a reluctant smile. "The time he brought you lunch. Why?"

"We're in a bit of a... situation." Her smile tightened. "His mother's come back to town."

He hadn't expected _that_. Maybe the kid had gotten himself fired again or made some friends that didn't meet the captain's stringent standards. But his mother was an entirely different kettle of fish, and that explained a lot. Like her subdued reactions and the tension he could see lining her face.

"I'm guessing she hasn't come to return the money she took off with."

"Lieutenant." It was a half-hearted admonishment. She shook her head. "Rusty tells me she claims to be doing better. She wants to see him."

He made a skeptical sound. "Does he want to see her?"

"He does." She folded her arms. "As you can imagine, it's created a very..." She paused, clearing her throat. "A very difficult situation for me to navigate, but we'll be fine."

"The phone call?"

"Something else entirely." She indicated the door with a wave of her hand. "I would hate to keep Ms. Janson waiting."

* * *

"Dr. Bowman has an opening at three, the Monday after next. It's yours if you want it."

"Yeah," Rusty said. "Okay."

"I'll put you down," the woman on the other end of the phone said. He'd always liked Dr. Joe's receptionist. She understood that he wasn't too old for candy, and let him take two from the jar they kept up front whenever no one was watching. "We'll see you then."

"Okay," he said again. "Thanks. Bye."

He hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket, wrinkling his nose as the wind changed directions and he got a breath full of marijuana. He'd gone out by the dumpster for privacy because he didn't want to make this call in the break room where _anyone_ could hear him, but his coworkers used the dumpster area for privacy too and not for phone calls to their therapists.

He still had to answer his mom's latest email, but he headed inside instead. He could do that from his phone, but he thought he'd probably wait until he got home later. It would probably be a better idea to wait until he'd seen Dr. Joe _before_ seeing his mom and he really did know that, but she wanted to know if he was available this weekend.

_I can't wait to see your face again_._ What are you doing on Saturday?_

He had waited _so long_ to see her and he just really _needed_ to see her, and... he would see her tonight, if that's what she wanted.

He'd waited long enough.

But it was still _hard_ to really feel much beyond the _need_, whether it was excited or happy or anything but besides anxious about the whole thing, because what if she changed her mind? What if she didn't show up? What was she going to say to him? What was _he_ going to say to _her_?

He'd had a long time to think about that, but everything that he had wanted to say to her during all those years now sounded either too pathetic and desperate, or too angry, and... either of those things could be enough to scare her away. He needed her to see that he had changed, and for her to know that reaching out to him had been the right thing for her to do. He just didn't know how.

"Hey, Rusty."

He did a double take at the person who held the door open for him. "Oh hey, Nate." He paused. "Do you work today?"

"Nah." Which should have been obvious because Nate was wearing regular clothing. "Just came to get my check."

And it wasn't like he'd spent a whole lot of time thinking about what sort of clothes Nate might wear—no, okay, that would've been weird, but he looked... normal and relaxed, and when he was relaxed, he smiled, and...

"Well... I've got to get to class, so I guess I'll see you around," Nate said, stepping forward to open the door again for a customer on her way out because he was, like, a way better person than Rusty. "Have a good one."

"See you," Rusty echoed, watching him go.

He wasn't sure what to do about that, either.

* * *

"Hey."

"Hey." Sharon dropped her keys in the bowl on the bureau. She inhaled, smiling as she exhaled. "You made dinner two nights in a row?"

"It's just pizza," he said from the kitchen. "But like, there's vegetables on it. And I went and bought more of that salad stuff."

"That was very thoughtful of you," she said, coming to lean against the bar. "Thank you."

He just shrugged, and went to get plates from the cabinet. She frowned at the back of his head. He was still feeling guilty for what he'd said the night before. She was still hurting from it too—that scar would take awhile to heal over-but she'd forget faster if he stopped giving her furtive glances and avoiding eye contact.

"I called Dr. Joe," he said, his back still to her.

She raised an eyebrow. "Did you?"

"You sound surprised."

"I am, a little." She slid onto one of the stools, kicking her feet free of her heels. She slid her feet back and forth across the bottom rung of the stool, closing her eyes in relief. It felt good to sit. "But I think that was a very good decision. When's your appointment?"

"The week after next," he told her. "But, um... I—I told my mom that I would see her on Saturday."

"Oh," she said, her fingers searching for safety in her pockets. She bit her lip, trying hard to remind herself that she didn't get to decide what Rusty was ready for and when. That wasn't up to her. But—she wasn't sure what it would do to him in the event that his mother left _again_, and it was hardly reassuring to know that he was aware it was a possibility. She didn't want to see him hurt again by someone who should have loved him.

Maybe there had been some truth to Rusty's words the night before after all, if she looked beneath the misplaced anger and the fear. She wanted Jack to know his children, for all of their sakes. It was different with Rusty. She hadn't liked Daniel, either.

It still upset her, thinking about that.

Sharon swallowed against the tightness in her throat, ill at ease with herself.

"Rusty," she said quietly, watching him pull forks from the drawer. "If you really want to bring your mother here, I'll make myself scarce."

"And that's... okay?" His voice was small. "Like... really?"

"Mm," she said. "I've been needing a haircut, and it's been awhile since I've had lunch with Chief Johnson and DDA Hobbs."

"Seriously, Sharon?" It was nice to know that whatever life crises he was suffering through, he would never be too distracted to roll his eyes at her. "Do you make them call you Captain Raydor too?"

"_Anyway._" She ignored him. "I'm just letting you know that if you would _like_ to show your mother around here, I'll be out for most of the day."

"Thanks," he said, after a brief pause. "That... thanks, Sharon."

She tried to smile at him.

They both jumped when the timer beeped. "Pizza's done," he announced unnecessarily.

Yes, thank you, she hadn't noticed. She took the plates he handed her and carried them to the table while he took the pizza from the oven.

"Did you solve your murder?"

"We did."

He shut the oven door with his foot, balancing carefully with the pizza in his hands. Sharon winced when the door slammed. "Rusty."

"Right," he said. "Sorry."

"Be _careful_," she said, watching him carry the pizza to the table.

"I _said_ I was sorry."

He had said that the last three times, too. She could reprimand him all she wanted and he would forget anyway. And he wondered why she reminded him to drive safely every single time. Because it was _necessary_, that was why.

"So who did it?"

"One of his teaching assistants," she told him. "When she discovered that she wasn't the only one he was involved with. We sent officers to her home when she didn't show up for class, and they found her in the middle of destroying evidence."

"What, like at her house?" Rusty shook his head when she nodded. "That's, like—everyone knows you're not supposed to just _leave_ the murder weapon lying around." He brandished the pizza cutter for emphasis.

"Really," she said.

"I live with you, okay?" he said. "And, as you know, I watch a lot of TV."

She pressed her lips together, and took a slice of pizza. "I do know."

"Not that I would ever kill anyone," he added, almost as an afterthought.

She was glad that he could still joke about things like that. It almost made all those sleepless nights worth it. "I should hope not."

"So you won this time?"

"We did." She smiled at him. "And how was your day? Did you get paid?"

"Yeah," he said. "It was... fine."

Some things never changed.

"Hey, Sharon?"

Or maybe they did. He always fidgeted when he was anxious, but this time he leaned towards her, hesitating, like he wanted to tell her something he couldn't quite bring himself to say. She waited. "If I... asked you something, do you think like... maybe you could just answer without asking any questions?"

She gave him a sharp look. The fidgeting increased in the face of her scrutiny. "Are you in any imminent danger?"

He blinked. "No."

Her heart beat a little quicker anyway. "Then I will do my best. What's on your mind?"

"I..." She could tell he was tugging at his shirt again. "Um... I—I... how do you... I mean, like, _what_ do you..."

Was he blushing?

Sharon raised an eyebrow.

"Never mind," he said, looking away. "It's nothing."

Oh, Rusty.

"Well," she said carefully. "If you ever want to talk about _nothing_, you know where to find me."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I know."

She wasn't sure that she was ready for that, either. From the way he was glaring down into his pizza, his expression confused and hard to decipher, neither was he. It broke her heart a little, to see that expression on his face.

He gave her a desperate sort of look, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the silence between them lengthened. She took pity on him.

"Oh," she said, clearing her throat as she remembered. "I've been meaning to ask you. You... haven't heard from Jack recently, have you?"

He looked more confused than ever now, but clearly he was happy with any change of subject. "No. Why? Should I have?"

"No," she said quickly. "Definitely not. I was just wondering, that's all."

"Are you worried about him or something?"

"Or something," she said, in a tone she hoped would convey they had reached the end of that discussion. Whatever Jack was selling, she wasn't buying, but that he'd called her twice now was unusual. She was just glad he seemed to be leaving everyone else out of it.

"Are you, like, okay?" Rusty gave her a worried glance, then sighed. "I know, it's none of my business."

She smiled a little. "Don't worry about me."

She and Jack hadn't worked out. It was a statement of fact. She'd made her peace with that, but every time he popped back into her life and disrupted it, she felt some of that peace ebb away, and after last summer... She wondered what it might be like to sever all those remaining ties between them. It wasn't even that she wanted another relationship. She wasn't sure that she did, honestly. There was something to be said for living alone. It had been quiet and peaceful, her things were always right where she left them and the place was easy to keep clean, and she could do what she wanted when she wanted. She had friends and she had her children. She didn't feel like those years of her life had lacked for anything.

On the other hand, as she had told Rusty the other night, there _were_ upsides. She still wished, sometimes, that she and Jack had grown into the quiet sort of understanding her parents had, the sort where they communicated with just a look and a smile. It would have been nice, to have had that. But she would rather be happier alone than repeat how desperately unhappy and stressed and afraid she had been that last year before Jack had finally left.

Rusty was still watching her.

She shook her head, and took another slice of pizza. "Oh no," she said. "I'm not asking questions, but I'm not answering any, either. We can watch a movie when you're done, if you want. Whatever you want."

It wasn't her most subtle transition, but it did the trick. "Whatever I want?"

He would give her cause to regret that. She'd thought that her older children had had the worst taste in entertainment. Then she'd met Rusty... and there she went again, thinking of him as her third child. Sharon swallowed, the food tasteless in her mouth. "Whatever you want," she agreed quietly, wondering if it would hurt more to break herself of the habit, or to not.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes: **We will see how Sharon spends _her_day in the next chapter. Thank you for all of your comments! :)

**When the Winds of Changes Shift**

**rosabelle**

**Chapter VIII**

He fell asleep sometime after midnight and woke before dawn. Rusty turned over onto his stomach and drew the comforter up over his head, cocooning himself inside. He tugged them down, freeing his face, a moment later when the lack of fresh air made him feel like he was choking.

He was supposed to meet his mother at noon.

He left the condo at ten thirty, feeling sick to his stomach.

His clothes were too tight on his skin and it was hard to tell when his hands were tingling too much to let him feel his fingers, but he thought his palms were sweating. Rusty rubbed them dry on his jeans before he left his room, drawing deep breaths in and out through his nose.

He triple checked to be sure that he had his wallet, keys, and phone, because he didn't want to come back once he left. He hoped to leave without running into Sharon at all in the living room, because he would feel compelled to say _something_ to her, and what was there that he could possibly say? He still wasn't convinced that she didn't think that he was ungrateful for everything she had done for him. It wasn't like that. Not at all—but he couldn't even blame her if she did think that, not after what he had said to her the other night. She'd said that they were okay, but what if she saw this as some kind of betrayal?

He wasn't so lucky.

She was there in the living room, the contents of her purse upended across the coffee table. Rusty stood there, for a moment just watching her. Was she seriously sorting things into piles? Whatever she thought, it wasn't that at all. He loved her. He just really missed his mother.

Her attention was mostly diverted, her head bent low as she smoothed an old receipt against her leg and frowned at whatever it read. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if maybe he could just... but of course he couldn't. At his first step, her head turned toward him, and she stopped, her smile freezing at the sight of him standing there fully dressed.

His tongue stuck dryly to the roof of his mouth. Rusty swallowed several times to loosen it, feeling his fingers start sweating again. "Hey."

He watched the muscles in her throat work as she swallowed too, and she cleared her throat before speaking. "Leaving so soon?"

"I don't want to get stuck in traffic." Rusty tried to shrug. He didn't want to stand in his room pacing for another hour was more like it, but that was harder to explain.

"Rusty." She rose, giving him a long look and the smallest of smiles. It was hard to hide her hands in her pockets when she was wearing jeans, but the way her hands went to her hips told him she was trying anyway. "I hope..."

"Yeah." He lowered his eyes. "Me too."

He stepped toward the door, and then turned back to her again. "If... she doesn't... can you just, like, not say anything?"

Sadness touched her face, her expression softening into the look that meant she would hug him, if she thought he would allow it, but she stayed where she was and nodded. "Drive carefully."

"Sharon." It was just habit, falling into that frustrated tone. "You don't have to tell me every single time."

"Oh, I think I do." The forced smile thawed into exasperated amusement. Sharon folded her arms. "If you need anything—"

"I know."

"If I don't hear from you, I'll assume things are going well," she said. "I'll let you know when I'm on my way home. All right?"

"Okay," he said. "And... thanks, Sharon."

Her smile was steadier this time. "You're welcome."

"I should, uh..."

Her hands made that fluttering motion again. "Right."

He left before she could say anything else, his heartbeat pulsing in his throat and between his ears, a shaky, uncomfortable march. This shouldn't be so hard. Hadn't he been waiting for this moment for more than three years, since the moment he'd trudged home from the zoo one summer afternoon? But—what if she didn't like who he had become? What if she found out what he had _done_?

Rusty felt queasy in the elevator, bile rising in his throat as the rest of him went down, and he found himself clinging to the handrail. If she knew, what if she blamed herself for what he had done? What if guilt made her relapse? What if she didn't want anything to do with him?

That was the real fear. She'd done it before, after all.

* * *

Rusty did try to drive carefully.

It wasn't like he was a terrible driver on purpose just to horrify Sharon. He was pretty sure that she would take the keys away the moment he came home with so much as a parking ticket, much less one for speeding, and he shuddered to think what she would do if he ever actually got in an accident. She just made him nervous with all of her backseat... passenger seat... _whatever_ driving. That was all.

But... with his mood the way it was, it was probably for the best that it was a short drive.

He'd let his mom choose the restaurant. Sharon was right. Bringing her to the condo right away was probably a mistake. He remembered how he had felt the first time he'd seen it—it had possibly been the nicest home that he had ever personally been inside of. His mom would never be able to afford anything that nice. Rusty didn't want to overwhelm her with it, or make her feel like...

Like...

Like it was about the big TV or the pool downstairs.

When he parked the car, Rusty sat awhile, his phone resting in his lap. The last message from his mother was a text from the night before: _cant w8 2 c u_

She hadn't sent him anything today, and there were no missed calls. If she hadn't called to cancel, did that mean she was still coming? It did, didn't it?

Maybe.

She hadn't bothered to tell him the last time she'd changed her plans.

Rusty pulled the key from the ignition and opened the door. He still had an hour to spare, but he couldn't sit there thinking the whole time. He slammed the door and made sure that all of the doors locked. He checked his phone one more time, and after that there was nothing to do except stick his keys in his pocket and head around to the front of the diner, and hope his mother remembered to show up.

She was already there.

Rusty stopped in his tracks, so abruptly that he almost tripped. For a moment, he told himself that it was his imagination or—or a trick of the light, that of course it wasn't her, it was too early and he shouldn't get his hopes up, but then she shifted and her head turned towards him and there was no mistaking the fact that it was _really her_, sitting on a bench near the doors, her hands curled around the bottom slat and her legs swinging back and forth.

He was having a hard time breathing.

She hadn't seen him yet, so he waited, watching her from a distance.

Her hair was brushed. That was the first thing he noticed, because for years he had done that for her. Her hair had been longer, the last time he'd seen her; except for her bangs, it was cut almost shorter than his now. But it was clean, and she was dressed too. And not in pajamas. She wore gray jeans and a pink t-shirt and from where Rusty stood, they looked clean too.

His heart beat erratically, as he hoped. Maybe it was real this time. Maybe...

He took a few more steps towards her, and wet his lips. "Mom?" It came out quietly, half a question, half a plea.

Her head whipped around at his voice, and he watched her eyes go wide and her lips part in—surprise? Joy? Fear?

She rose, covering her mouth with her hands. "Rusty."

She took a step foward, stretching her arms out to him, and without thinking, Rusty closed the gap between them and hugged her. He didn't care. Didn't care that they were in public or that she had left him twice or that he wasn't even sure that he could trust her, because just for now, just for this moment, all that mattered was that she was his _mother_, he had been waiting three years to hug her again and that was long enough.

She felt real in his arms, warm and solid, and he held on for all he was worth because if he didn't, she might slip away. She smelled clean, too, like freshly washed skin and soap and fabric softener. It buoyed his heart with each breath that he took, because maybe... maybe...

"You're really here." Her hand touched his hair, smoothing it down. "I wasn't sure you would come."

"I—" Oh god, he really couldn't breathe. "Of course I came."

Her arms tightened around him. "You don't know how much I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," he whispered, and felt a tear slide down his cheek. He tried to take a breath without sniffling. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"You didn't think I'd forget about you, did you?"

He couldn't remember the last time she had hugged him. It hadn't been the day she'd left him at the zoo and he'd wondered, for _so long_ he had wondered. Had it really been so bad, the fight that he and Gary had gotten into, that she'd been too mad to say goodbye?

What would she say if he asked?

"No." Rusty swallowed hard, and strained gently against her hold as it turned suffocating. "I didn't."

"You've gotten taller." She cupped his face in her hands when he pulled back, stroking her thumbs across his cheeks. "It really is good to see you."

"You too, Mom." Rusty reached up and curled his fingers around her wrists, gently prying her hands from his face. "I thought about you all the time. I wondered if you were okay."

Her smile faded and she hugged her arms to her chest, swaying slightly on her spot. Then she lowered her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ears, clearing her throat before she spoke. "I was in a bad place for a long time," she said. "I guess you knew that. But I'm doing better now. I got a job. I'll buy you lunch. Anything you want."

Rusty followed her inside, half in a daze. When was the last time his mom had worked? A long time ago—a _really_ long time ago, when he had been in kindergarten, she'd had two jobs. Then she'd only had one, and then, by the time he was in middle school, none.

He was afraid to ask what the job was.

"We'd like a table for two, please," she said to the waiter.

They were seated at a booth near the door, one of the ones with room for one person on each side. That gave him a little more space to himself and he relaxed a little knowing that she couldn't try to hug him the _entire_ time. Which made him feel guiltier, really, because if she had missed him just as much then he couldn't even blame her, it was just... he couldn't handle all the hugging, and he couldn't tell her why.

"Rusty?" His mom startled him by reaching across the table and tapping his hand. "Did you want something to drink?"

The waiter was still there.

Maybe meeting in public hadn't been the best idea, either.

"I'd like a soda," Rusty said. "Uh... a Coke. Please."

"Two Cokes," he repeated. "Coming right up."

They sat in silence until their drinks arrived, his mom picking at her fingernails and Rusty staring down at the menu in front of him. Would it upset her if he stared at her? Should he ask how she was doing? What if she hadn't told him because she didn't want him to know?

What was he supposed to _say_ to her?

His soda being set in front of him was a welcome break from his uncertainty. Rusty took a long sip, and his mother did the same.

"I guess you're eighteen now," she said at last, fiddling with her straw.

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry I missed that," she said quietly. "I hope you did something big."

"My friends from school threw me a party," he said. "And Sharon and the team got me stuff too."

"Sharon," his mother repeated. "That's the police lady."

"You talked to her on the phone once," he said cautiously, and instantly regretted it. He shouldn't have brought that up, and he wasn't sure what would happen if they talked about it.

She looked away. "I don't remember that."

Rusty took another sip of his soda, and wished that he hadn't. It was sticky and sickly sweet, and he felt like he was going to be sick.

"Did you finish school?"

He nodded. "A couple of weeks ago."

"You going to college?"

Rusty tensed, and mimicked her motion as he spun his straw between his fingers. "Next year," he said. "I... uh, I thought I'd take a year and, you know, save up some money..."

She accepted the explanation, and nodded approvingly. "Good. Good for you. I thought about doing something like that, before... well. You know. But good for you."

Before he'd come along and ruined her life. Rusty swallowed, looking away. She'd never said that to him when she was herself. Only when she was drunk or high, and he couldn't even be sure that she had been talking to him in the first place. She could have mistaken him for one of her exes. It had happened often enough.

"Are we ready to order?" They were interrupted by the waiter stopping back.

Rusty hadn't opened his menu. "I'd like a cheeseburger," he said. "With fries."

"Just a regular burger for me." His mother smiled at him as the waiter walked away. "You still like burgers?"

He nodded, not sure what else to say. He thought she looked a little relieved.

"I remember how you'd always pick McDonald's for dinner. You remember that too?"

He nodded again.

Her smile faded some. "It's just... nice to know some things are still the same."

"Yeah." What was he supposed to say to that? He didn't want to lie to her, but more had changed than he wanted to tell her.

She seemed to pick up on his wariness. That was new too. "So where'd you go to school? You had some uniform on in all your pictures."

"Saint Joseph's."

"What, like Catholic school?"

"I thought the same thing," he said, hesitating. But she had _asked_... "I didn't want to go, but Sharon said it was a good school. Her kids went there. It wasn't so bad, though. I made some friends."

"Are you Catholic now?" she asked, twirling her straw some more.

"What? No." He wasn't sure if she was serious or not. "I don't think Sharon cares. It's not like she goes to Mass every week." And he really didn't want to talk about Sharon with his mother. "I can't believe you're really here, Mom. What happened to you?"

She lowered her eyes. "That's not important," she said quietly, tucking nonexistent wisps of hair behind her ears. "I want to hear about you."

"But... I want to hear about you too," he said. "I—I mean... not if you don't _want_ to... but... I missed you, Mom. I really did."

His voice sounded small to his own ears, and he felt his eyes begin to smart. Rusty pinched himself. He wasn't going to cry _in_ the restaurant. This had all been easier when it was a dream he hadn't expected would come true.

"Oh." Her surprise was real, he thought. "It's... it's kind of a long story. It's good, though. I'm good. I'm working."

"Where?" he asked, unable to help himself.

"Grocery store," she said. "Graveyard, mostly, but that's not so bad. Fewer customers."

"Yeah." He smiled a little. "I thought about doing that, but—" But Sharon had given him disapproving looks whenever he'd mentioned it. "But... I—I didn't."

"It's not so bad," his mother repeated. "I've got a place with some friends for now. They want to meet you."

"They... do?" He'd met enough of his mother's friends for a lifetime.

"I told them all about you." She smiled at him. "They're good people. Not like... before."

"You can come by the condo too," he said, hoping that she wouldn't notice that he hadn't given her an answer one way or the other. "Sharon won't mind."

His mother frowned, her hands ceasing their fidgeting as she laid them flat on the table. "You're still living with her?"

"Well... yeah," Rusty said cautiously. Had he not told her that? He really couldn't remember anymore, he had written and erased so many messages. "We get along. It's not a big deal."

"Oh," she said, trying to tuck her hair behind her ear again. "Yeah, sure, you can show me around. But some other time. Not today."

"Sharon won't be there," he said, trying to reassure her. "She was going to have lunch with some friends, and then, like, something about her hair?" He wasn't sure why it took an entire afternoon to trim her hair, but somehow it did. "If that's what you're worried about, and like I said, she said it was fine."

"Some other time," his mom repeated, and smiled again. "Tell me about your friends."

"There's not much to tell," he said. "They're mostly kids from the chess team—"

"You still play chess?" She relaxed another little bit.

Rusty nodded, wondering if she remembered that he had taught her how to play once. "All the time," he said. "We won a couple of tournaments this year. Not a _lot_, but it was loads better than last year. I can show you those pictures, if you want. I'm not sure if I'm tagged in all of them."

He hoped he didn't sound too eager.

"I'd like to see," she said quietly, giving him a little nod.

That was all the encouragement Rusty needed to pull out his phone, but even as he leaned forward, setting the phone on the table between them so they could both see the screen. There were so many pictures and moments and stories that he hadn't been able to share with his mother, but he had desperately wanted to. Now he could. This was what he had been waiting for and wanting for three _years_. He had gotten the one thing he had been sure would never happen.

So why didn't he feel happier about it?


End file.
